How History Repeats… On and On and On and On! SiMPL #016
Exploring the Cycles That Shape Our World: From Ancient Philosophy to Modern Power Struggles
Let’s kick this off with an apocryphal anecdote about Albert Einstein—one that’s floated around academic circles for years. It’s said to have taken place in the 1940s during his time as a professor at Princeton. Einstein, fresh from collecting exams, was stopped by a colleague who noticed something odd.
“Professor Einstein,” the colleague said, “I couldn’t help but notice that this year’s exam is identical to last year’s.”
Einstein, without missing a beat, replied, “Yes, but the answers have changed.”
Now, did this actually happen? Who knows. Probably not. But it’s a great reminder of how our understanding keeps shifting over time. And for someone like me, always obsessing about continuous improvement, it’s a perfect metaphor for how the same questions pop up again and again, but the way we answer them evolves as we learn and grow.
And while I’m writing this, I can’t help but think of the Propellerheads’ song, so I’ve got it playing in the background: (Shirley Bassey singing) “It’s all just a little bit of history repeating.” 🎶
Speaking of history repeating itself, let’s talk about Syria—and a concept from ancient Greece that feels eerily relevant today: the Cycles of Power. But before we dive into ancient Greece, let me set the scene with something closer to home.
Dusting Off the Chess Skills
This weekend was Mother’s Day in Panama, so naturally, I went all out with a feast for my mom, grandma, and sister. Picture this: BBQ baby back ribs, grilled chicken with two flavors—tandoori-inspired and a parsley Mediterranean twist—cornbread, and not one but two cakes courtesy of my wife and my grandma made her token afternoon coffee… Colombian style. Yep, we ate like royalty and had an absolute blast.
Somewhere between bites of cake, my 10-year-old nephew declared, “I’m the best at chess in my class. I’ve beaten everyone—even my teacher. Want to play?” Of course, I said yes. But instead of diving right into competition, I said, “Why don’t you teach me?” Call it wisdom—or maybe just patience that comes with age—but watching him teach was incredible. He was calm, thorough, and surprisingly good at it. Better than I probably would have been at his age.
We played a few rounds, and during the first game, he started bragging mid-match, claiming my moves were “illegal” when I got the upper hand. I humored him until my Rook set up the perfect checkmate. “That’s illegal!” he yelled. It wasn’t. I pointed it out gently, and he switched tactics, playing my wife, Mafer—who doesn’t even play chess! The kid’s confidence was something else.
But while I was laughing about my nephew’s creative chess rules, my mind wandered to Kingdom of Heaven. Remember that scene where King Baldwin IV plays chess with Balian, teaching him life lessons along the way? It hit me—this was what I missed hinting at in my last newsletter. Syria’s fall wasn’t about if, it was about when. As King Baldwin says, “It’s only a matter of time.”
And then, this weekend, it finally happened: Damascus fell.
The Fall of Damascus
While my newsletter was ready and on its way to being published, the Syrian Revolutionary Army was reclaiming control of their country—a nation subjected to the tyrannical rule of the al-Assad family since 1971. Yep, that’s half a century. You could argue it was practically a monarchy, lasting 53 years.
Damascus has fallen. Over the weekend, Syrian President Bashar al-Assad fled to Russia as opposition forces, led by Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (H.T.S.), took control of the capital. This marked the end of a brutal uprising that began in 2011, claiming hundreds of thousands of lives and displacing millions. It’s the largest displacement in modern history, followed closely by Venezuela. Yep, you read that right!
For over a decade, Assad’s regime clung to power, bolstered by military support from Iran and Russia. But as his allies were stretched thin—Russia caught up in Ukraine and Iran distracted by its own conflicts—H.T.S. moved with stunning speed, seizing Syria’s major cities. It was a climax no one saw coming, like the season finale of a political thriller you didn’t know you were watching.
A Bit of History
And for my non-history buffs, let me try not to bore you. Here’s a little fact to kick things off: did you know Damascus is the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world? Yep, archaeological evidence dates this city back to at least 9,000 BC. If cities could talk, Damascus would have seen it all—from the domestication of animals in the Neolithic era to, well, the TikTok era.
Syria isn’t just any country; it’s a geopolitical linchpin with a history as layered as baklava. Sitting at the crossroads of Africa, Asia, and Europe, Syria has been a melting pot of cultures, religions, and empires for millennia. Damascus, its crown jewel, has witnessed everything from the rise of Islam to the bloody battles of the Crusades.
Speaking of the Crusades, let’s talk about Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb—better known as Saladin. This guy was a master strategist who united Islamic states against the Crusaders. He’s the dude from Kingdom of Heaven (yes, the one with Orlando Bloom). While the movie might take some liberties, Saladin’s legacy as a skilled leader and diplomat is as real as it gets. And guess where he made his mark? That’s right—Damascus.
Fast forward to modern times, Syria’s strategic location made it a central player in the Middle East. Bordering key nations like Turkey, Israel, and Iraq, it’s often been the chessboard where global powers moved their pieces. But Syria’s story isn’t just about war; its contributions to art, literature, and science have left an indelible mark on humanity.
The Assad Dynasty: A Half-Century Grip on Power
Syria’s modern political saga took a sharp turn in 1971 when Hafez al-Assad, a cunning military officer, staged a coup—remember our last newsletter about coups? (If you missed it, here’s the link).
Declaring himself president, Hafez turned Syria into a one-party state under the Ba’ath Party and ruled with an iron fist. His reign was marked by a mix of authoritarian control and relative regional stability. Intelligence networks crushed dissent, while a strong hand maintained order. Hafez didn’t just lead; he dominated.
When he passed away in 2000, power was handed down to his son, Bashar al-Assad. Initially painted as a reformist, Bashar quickly revealed himself to be his father’s son—minus the charisma and strategic finesse. What he lacked in skill, he made up for with brute force. When the Arab Spring swept through the region in 2011, peaceful protests in Syria were met with violent crackdowns, igniting a civil war that spiraled into one of the worst humanitarian crises of the 21st century.
By 2018, Bashar, with the military backing of allies like Russia and Iran, had regained control of much of Syria. But the victory came at a cost: a shattered nation, an economy in ruins, and an embittered populace. His regime grew increasingly corrupt and predatory, and public discontent simmered under the surface. When the moment of reckoning came this past weekend, even his staunchest supporters seemed to agree—it just wasn’t worth fighting for him anymore.
The End of an Era
The fall of Assad’s regime wasn’t just the collapse of a dictatorship; it was the breaking point in a power structure that had ruled Syria for over half a century. While H.T.S. capitalized on the moment, what truly brought the regime to its knees was its own rot—corruption, economic collapse, and the disillusionment of even its staunchest supporters.
This wasn’t just a military defeat; it was the natural conclusion of a system that had overstayed its welcome. When the foundation is cracked, it’s only a matter of time before the whole structure comes tumbling down. And that’s where the real story begins: what comes after?
To understand the cycles that govern such rises and falls, let’s turn to the wisdom of the ancients. After all, history might not repeat itself exactly, but it sure does rhyme.
The Cycles of Power
To understand what happened in Syria, we need to rewind—way back. No, not to the 1970s or even to Saladin’s time, but to ancient Greece, where political thinkers started piecing together the puzzle of power. Among them was Polybius, a Greek historian and philosopher who wrote The Histories, a detailed account of the Roman Republic from 220–146 BC.
Polybius noticed something fascinating about civilizations: they don’t just rise and fall—they follow patterns, like the tides or the seasons. He called this pattern Anacyclosis. Wait, stop there… Anacy what? Repeat after me: Ana…C…Closis. As easy as saying Dulce de Leche! Well, in plain English, it means the “cycle of political evolution.” Essentially, Polybius believed that societies move through a predictable sequence of government types, each one giving way to the next.
Polybius’ Political Cycle (Anacyclosis), the SiMPL way!:
Anarchy: Where chaos reigns, and someone steps up as a leader.
Monarchy: A single ruler emerges, often benevolent at first.
Tyranny: The monarchy deteriorates into oppressive rule.
Aristocracy: A small group overthrows the tyrant, aiming for collective leadership.
Oligarchy: Over time, the aristocracy becomes corrupt, focusing on their own wealth and power.
Democracy: The people overthrow the oligarchs, striving for equality and freedom.
Back to Anarchy: Democracy eventually erodes due to greed, division, and instability.
And so, the wheel turns.
The Story of Jon Through Anacyclosis
Let’s illustrate the Cycle of Power in a more tangible way. Imagine this as a pitch for a binge-worthy limited series:
Episode 1: Anarchy – Jon the Wanderer
In the beginning, there was Jon. Just Jon. A hunter-gatherer roaming the wilds with no formal leadership or political structure. Life was simple, but chaos reigned. When danger struck—a rival tribe, a wild animal—it was Jon who stepped up, wielding strength and cunning to protect his people.
Jon became the natural leader, not through a title, but through deeds. In the absence of order, Jon the Wanderer brought stability.
Episode 2: Monarchy – King Jon I of Jonstown
As settlements grew, Jon’s descendants rose to power. By controlling resources—farmlands, water, and trade—Jon’s lineage formalized their rule. Jon the First became the founder of Jonstown, a thriving kingdom where people prospered under his guidance.
At first, King Jon I was beloved. His leadership was fair, and his reign brought peace. But over time, the crown became a symbol of absolute power. Enter the next phase.
Episode 3: Tyranny – King Jon the Good (Not Really)
Generations later, Jon’s great-great-grandson King Jon the Good took the throne. But the title was misleading. Unlike his ancestors, King Jon ruled with fear, crushing dissent and hoarding wealth.
The people, once loyal subjects, grew restless under his iron fist. The king’s “good” reputation crumbled, and whispers of rebellion echoed through the land.
Episode 4: Aristocracy – The Jonsons of Jonstown
The tyrant fell, overthrown by a coalition of noble families who called themselves the Jonsons. They promised to govern collectively, ensuring no single person could hold too much power.
At first, the Jonsons ruled wisely, sharing resources and upholding justice. But as the years passed, they became more concerned with protecting their own wealth and privilege. The aristocracy slowly morphed into an oligarchy.
Episode 5: Oligarchy – Alfred Ernest Jonson III, Esq.
By now, power rested in the hands of a select few: the Jonsons. Wealth concentrated among a handful of families, including the illustrious Alfred Ernest Jonson III.
For the people of Jonstown, life became increasingly unequal. The Jonsons enjoyed lavish banquets while the common folk struggled to survive. Discontent reached a boiling point, paving the way for revolution.
Episode 6: Democracy – Jon Smith, Representative of Jonstown
Tired of corruption and inequality, the people rose up. They overthrew the oligarchy and established a democracy. Jon Smith, a humble farmer with a knack for leadership, became the first elected representative of Jonstown.
The town flourished under its newfound freedoms. But democracy brought its own challenges. Over time, gratitude waned, greed reemerged, and divisions deepened.
After-Credit Scene: Back to Anarchy – Jon the Wanderer (Again?)
And thus, the cycle began anew. The system collapsed, and the people found themselves back where they started—searching for a leader to guide them out of chaos.
So Democracy is Perfect, Right? … Right???
Well, not exactly. Democracy might feel like the pinnacle of governance, but it’s far from immune to its own flaws. The cracks begin to show when people start taking their freedoms—and the responsibilities that come with them—for granted. That’s when the real villains of this story step in: the demagogues.
These charismatic figures thrive on chaos and discontent, weaving absurd discourses that somehow become credible in the minds of the masses. They promise quick fixes to complex problems, exploiting fear, division, and resentment to consolidate their power.
Sound familiar? It’s happened time and time again. In ancient Athens, it was demagogues like Cleon who rose to prominence by appealing to populist sentiments, eroding the very foundation of the democracy they claimed to protect. The cycle continues in modern times, where flashy rhetoric and empty promises often overshadow substance and accountability.
Democracy, in all its brilliance, isn’t invincible—it needs vigilance, participation, and a collective commitment to the truth to thrive. Without it, the system decays, paving the way for tyranny, oligarchy, or worse. The cycle keeps spinning.
Polybius believed the Roman Republic had broken this cycle by combining elements of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy into one balanced system. The mutual checks and balances kept the government stable—or at least delayed its eventual collapse.
Why This Matters Now
The fall of Assad’s regime isn’t just a historical event; it’s a modern example of how Polybius’ cycle still plays out. Think about it: Assad’s reign began as a response to chaos, much like the early stages of monarchy in Anacyclosis. But as his rule turned tyrannical, cracks began to form. Over time, corruption, economic collapse, and discontent grew, weakening the regime from within.
Fast forward to last weekend, and the Syrian Revolutionary Army seized Damascus in a dramatic climax. In its place, a fragmented opposition now faces the Herculean task of governing a fractured nation. History, as Polybius would point out, is once again in motion.
Here’s the kicker: this isn’t just Syria’s story. It’s a cautionary tale for democracies and authoritarian regimes alike. It reminds us that power is fragile, and without vigilance, the wheel of Anacyclosis keeps turning.
Breaking the Cycle: Lessons for Modern Democracies
So, how do modern democracies try to break free from this cycle?
Polybius believed the Roman Republic prevented (well, delayed) its fall by balancing monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy—a system that thrived on mutual checks and balances. But even Rome couldn’t escape the wheel forever. Eventually, power tipped, the balance broke, and history repeated itself. (Cue Propellerheads’ “History Repeating.” Seriously, play it—it’s the perfect background track.)
Fast forward to today, and modern democracies have taken a page from Rome’s playbook. Systems like the U.S. Constitution and parliamentary democracies worldwide aim to maintain balance through separation of powers, term limits, and free elections. Think of it as a political Jenga tower—pull out too many pieces (trust, accountability, or fairness), and it all comes crashing down.
But here’s the catch: no system is foolproof. When the balance tilts—whether it’s through unchecked power, demagoguery, or corruption—the cycle creeps back. History shows us that vigilance is the price of freedom. Just look at South Korea, where lawmakers recently stepped in to prevent martial law, or France, where a no-confidence vote toppled the Prime Minister. Democracies have mechanisms to self-correct, but they depend on engaged citizens and robust institutions.
And this is where it gets interesting. Could modern democracies, equipped with data, algorithms, and centuries of trial and error, finally find a way to stop the wheel from turning? Or are we simply riding the same merry-go-round with fancier tools?
In our next newsletters, we’ll dive deeper into these questions: How does technology shape democracy? Can predictive data and AI stabilize governance—or are they just tools for modern demagogues? And, most intriguingly, is democracy itself an ancient form of AI, constantly learning, adapting, and evolving to correct its course? Stay tuned.
Book Recommendation: Cien Años de Soledad (One Hundred Years of Solitude)
Ok, I don’t know if I’ve told you this, but I’m basically half Colombian. So naturally, the title stays in its original language—Cien Años de Soledad.
This is one of those books we were told to read in school, and let me be honest: back then, I didn’t appreciate it. Like many kids, I skimmed through it, read summaries, or just relied on the teacher’s notes to get by. And here’s the spoiler: Cien Años de Soledad is a book you simply can’t skim.
I mean, how can you possibly keep track of all the Buendías? José Arcadio, Aureliano, Arcadio, Amaranta, Remedios… the family tree is an intricate labyrinth of names that repeat over generations, each carrying the weight of their predecessors’ choices. As a kid, it felt overwhelming—like trying to solve a riddle that refused to make sense. But as an adult, I get it. The repetition isn’t just a quirk; it’s part of the magic. It’s a reflection of how history, family, and human nature are endlessly cyclical.
During the pandemic, I decided to revisit the book. I started with Audible, planning to listen while exercising. But as I got deeper into the story, I realized I couldn’t just let it play in the background—I needed to read it, immerse myself fully. So, I bought the Kindle version, and that’s when it hit me: this wasn’t just a book—it was an experience.
Reading it felt like living in Macondo. I could see the relentless march of ants, hear the echoes of ghosts within the Buendía house, and witness the chaos of the banana plantation workers. García Márquez doesn’t just describe; he transports you. Every page felt like stepping into another layer of this endlessly complex, magical world.
Here’s a line that feels especially relevant for this newsletter’s theme of cycles and history:
“La historia de la familia era una máquina con repeticiones inevitables, una rueda giratoria que habría seguido derramándose en la eternidad si no fuera por el desgaste progresivo e irremediable del eje.”
“The history of the family was a machine with unavoidable repetitions, a turning wheel that would have gone on spilling into eternity were it not for the progressive and irremediable wearing of the axle.”
This encapsulates the inevitability of cycles—whether in politics, family, or life itself. It’s a beautifully crafted reminder of how patterns persist until something fundamentally changes.
The Timeless Genius of García Márquez
García Márquez was a master of this kind of storytelling—a true giant of his time, and a great portrayer of life cycles. And he wasn’t alone. In the same era, Latin America gave us literary titans like Isabel Allende, Roberto Bolaño, and Jorge Amado. These authors had a unique ability to weave the mundane with the magical, transforming everyday life into something extraordinary. They captured the complexity of human nature, infused their tales with mystery, and left readers spellbound.
What sets García Márquez apart is how he takes a sprawling narrative, full of characters, events, and tiny details, and threads them together so seamlessly that it feels inevitable. It’s genius.
García Márquez’s ability to intertwine personal and political, the mundane and the mythical, is unmatched. As you read, you start to see the Buendía family not just as individuals, but as representations of broader human struggles—love, ambition, power, and the inevitability of change.