From Prague to Peoria: The Shock Doctrine Comes Home

What the Looting of the Former Eastern Bloc Foreshadowed for the West

Western elites perfected the art of looting abroad—now the shock doctrine has come home. This is a warning, a record, and a refusal to stay silent as the final enclosures are built around us. Some of us saw it coming.

Introduction

In the early 1990s, I lived in Heidelberg, Germany—a city steeped in history, beauty, and contradictions. At that time, it was more than just a picturesque university town along the Neckar River; it was also the headquarters of US Army Europe, the military nerve centre of what many locals still referred to, pointedly, as US-occupied Germany. That phrase always stuck with me, a quiet rebuke to the triumphalism that defined the era. The Cold War had ended not with the long-feared apocalypse, but with Western leaders declaring the end of history and the unquestionable victory of capitalism. In the shadow of that military presence, amidst the winding cobblestone streets and stately old buildings, a strange euphoria gripped the West—a kind of economic bloodlust dressed up as liberation.

Everywhere, I heard talk of opportunity in the newly ‘freed’ East. The collapse of the Eastern Bloc wasn’t seen as a humanitarian crisis or a moment of reckoning—it was a chance to profit. People spoke with giddy anticipation about deals to be had. Entire cities, industries, and infrastructures were ripe for acquisition. Prague, in particular, was spoken of as though it had become a giant swap meet—a bazaar where the spoils of a fallen world were on offer to anyone with hard currency and the right connections. I heard stories of Westerners snapping up property, factories, and utilities for a fraction of their worth, while locals, reeling from the collapse of their economies, were left to survive however they could. “Babushka markets” sprang up on every corner, with families selling off anything and everything they owned—heirlooms, tools, clothing, even their children’s toys—just to get by. The streets became open-air pawnbrokers, not by choice, but by sheer necessity, as people watched their world not only collapse, but be bartered away in real time.

The human cost of it all was barely acknowledged in those circles. Instead, there was an undercurrent of entitlement, a belief that the East’s collapse was just reward for the West’s perseverance. But even then, as I walked the streets of Heidelberg under the watchful eye of American authority, I felt a gnawing unease. Something about it felt wrong—violently wrong. The speed and gleefulness with which the West moved to pick clean the bones of the Eastern Bloc didn’t feel like victory. It felt like a test run. I couldn’t shake the sense that this wasn’t an isolated event, but the refinement of a method—what would later be recognised as the shock doctrine in its infancy, not theory, but practice, unfolding in real time.

Looking back now, I realise that this was the warning. The East was a proving ground for a form of economic warfare that would one day be turned inward. Back then, I couldn’t yet articulate it, but my autistic spidey sense knew: this was not about freedom or democracy—it was about looting, about extraction, about the conquest of capital. What others saw as the dawn of a new era, I recognised as a harbinger. And now, decades on, I watch as those same tactics—the same cruelty—are deployed at home. The swap meet has come to us.

The Shock Doctrine in Russia: Engineered Collapse

The collapse of the Soviet Union is often portrayed in the West as an inevitable triumph of freedom over tyranny, but the reality was far more complex—and far more deliberately orchestrated. In the final years of the USSR, the majority of its citizens did not vote for dissolution. In fact, in the 1991 referendum on preserving the union, over 70% voted to keep it intact. But their voices were ignored. Western governments and financial institutions seized the moment, working behind the scenes to ensure that the Soviet collapse unfolded on their terms, not the people’s. Boris Yeltsin, installed as president of the newly independent Russia, proved to be a pliant figure, propped up by Western advisers and beholden to emerging domestic oligarchs who quickly realised the scale of the opportunity before them.

With Western backing, Yeltsin implemented shock therapy—a brutal set of economic reforms designed by Harvard economists and enforced by the IMF and World Bank. These measures were framed as necessary for modernisation, but in practice, they amounted to economic warfare against the Russian people. State-owned industries were privatised overnight, sold for pennies on the dollar to well-connected insiders. Pensions vanished, wages went unpaid, and poverty exploded. Babushkas lined the streets selling whatever they could to survive, while a drunken Yeltsin presided over the fire sale, indifferent or incapable, as his oligarch backers looted the country with impunity.

The West, of course, expected to reap the rewards. The plan had been to open Russia’s vast resources and markets to Western capital, to install a regime friendly to foreign investment, and to integrate Russia into the global economy on Western terms. But it didn’t go as planned. The new Russian elites, forged in chaos and deeply entwined with both the military and organised crime, proved not only ruthless but highly strategic, quickly mastering the rules of the neoliberal game and outsmarting the West at its own playbook. They outmanoeuvred their Western counterparts, consolidating control over key industries and shutting out many of the foreign investors who had banked on dominating the post-Soviet landscape. The US oligarchs lost the loot they had expected—but they learned the method. The shock doctrine, first tested abroad, had proven its effectiveness. And once perfected, it was only a matter of time before it was turned inward.

The Switcheroo: When the West Was Denied Its Spoils

The Western takeover of Russia’s economy in the wake of the Soviet collapse was expected to be the final act in a grand neoliberal victory—a seamless absorption of Russia into the global capitalist order, where Western corporations would control vast natural resources, critical infrastructure, and the levers of economic power. The looting that began under Yeltsin was meant to end with Western investors firmly at the helm, steering a compliant Russia towards a future of foreign-managed markets and permanent subordination. But the plan unravelled spectacularly. The Russian elites, forged amid the chaos of collapse and bolstered by ties to the military and organised crime, had other ideas. They had played along long enough to seize what they could, and when the moment came, they shut the door on Western interests.

The rise of Vladimir Putin marked the formal end of Western ambitions to dominate the Russian economy. His ascent to power was no accident—it was a response to the instability and humiliation of the Yeltsin years, and his mandate was clear: restore control, assert sovereignty, and protect Russia’s wealth from foreign hands. One by one, Western investors were sidelined or expelled, whilst Putin moved to rein in the oligarchs, forcing them into alignment with the state or removing them entirely. What had been envisioned as a satellite market for Western capital was now closed, and the spoils of the Soviet collapse were staying in Russian hands.

In response, the West shifted tactics. Having failed to dominate Russia through economic ‘liberalisation,’ it turned to economic warfare. This was the birth of the modern sanctions regime—a sustained campaign of financial pressure, asset freezes, and trade restrictions, all aimed at forcing Russia back into compliance. These sanctions were presented as moral interventions—punishments for human rights abuses, military actions, or political interference—but in truth, they were the continuation of the original agenda by other means. The goal remained the same: open the Russian economy, weaken domestic control, and reclaim access to its resources and markets.

But the damage had already been done—not just to relations, but to the illusion of Western inevitability. Russia had refused to play the role assigned to it, and in doing so, it became a symbol of defiance, a rival oligarchy that had beaten the West at its own game. This failure bred deep geopolitical resentment in Western capitals. The loss of anticipated profits, the blow to prestige, and the growing realisation that the shock doctrine could fail—all these seeded the long-term hostilities that now define East-West relations. What was intended as a victory lap became a festering grudge, and the tools of economic warfare perfected against Russia would, in time, be turned inward, to discipline Western populations under the same logic of control and extraction.

The Shock Doctrine Comes Home

This is not a treatise on why the United States is in Ukraine, nor is it an exploration of how Ukraine was compelled to sell off its national assets to Western interests under the familiar pressures of debt, conflict, and dependency. That story mirrors too closely what has already been done—to Russia, to countless nations before it, and now, increasingly, to us. No, this is not about the mechanics of foreign policy or the extraction of another nation’s wealth. Rather, this is about how the shock doctrine has come home—how the same tactics once deployed abroad, under the banner of democracy and free markets, are now being turned inward, on the very populations Western elites once claimed to represent.

In the United States and the United Kingdom, elites have run out of new frontiers to loot, and so they have turned on their own people, applying the tools of economic devastation perfected in places like post-Soviet Russia and post-crisis Latin America. Housing, once the foundation of stability for working people, is now treated as an investment vehicle, hoarded by private equity firms and financial institutions, not to provide homes, but to generate rents and profits. Healthcare, once a public good in many parts of the West, has become a site of extraction, where suffering is monetised, and access is rationed by ability to pay. Education, transport, energy, water—all of it is being privatised, commodified, and stripped of public accountability.

The events of 2008, the COVID-19 pandemic, climate-related disasters, and now the rise of AI-driven pricing and automation have each served as shock events—opportunities for wealth consolidation, market restructuring, and the further impoverishment of the majority. These crises were not only poorly managed, but in many cases exploited deliberately, with public resources funnelled into private hands, and social safety nets weakened under the guise of fiscal responsibility. Each disaster has been used to accelerate the extraction, to further discipline the populace, and to tighten the grip of capital over every aspect of life.

We have become what the West once claimed to liberate. We are now the Eastern Bloc—not in ideology, but in lived reality: dispossessed, surveilled, controlled, and looted by a class of elites who answer to no electorate, only to profit margins. The methods honed in the aftermath of the Soviet collapse—the imposition of austerity, the privatisation of survival, the monetisation of despair—are now the standard operating procedure in our own cities, our own communities, our own lives. The swap meet is no longer in Prague. It is in Peoria, in Manchester, in Birmingham, in Baltimore. And we are the goods on offer.

The Illusion of Resistance: Populist Pantomimes

In moments of rising public anger—when the consequences of looting become too visible to ignore—populist figures emerge, promising to challenge the system, to give voice to the voiceless, to stand with the people. In the United States, this role is often played by populist Democrats, much as Labour figures attempt it in the UK. They fill stadiums, draw crowds in the thousands, and absorb the collective rage, acting as pressure valves to release public discontent without ever truly threatening the structure of power. Their role is not to dismantle the system—they are there to deflect attention, to offer the appearance of resistance while protecting the core interests of capital.

A simple question cuts through their rhetoric: Where were they when they had power? The last time the Democrats held a supermajority, they passed the Affordable Care Act—a reform branded as a major step forward, but in reality, it was a massive handout to the insurance industry. Companies like UnitedHealthcare, which lobbied heavily for the bill, have since grown into oligarchs in their own right, wielding enormous influence over both policy and the lives of millions. Obamacare didn’t challenge the power of insurers—it entrenched it, ensuring their profits for decades whilst providing, at best, mediocre relief to a system already in crisis.

When Bernie Sanders emerged with his Medicare for All campaign, it seemed, to many, like a real challenge to this corporate grip on healthcare. But in truth, it functioned as a pressure relief valve, chanelling public outrage into a safely contained movement, one that kept the conversation away from nationalisation or truly public models seen in other countries. Medicare for All was never allowed to gain traction, not because it lacked support, but because it threatened the very oligarchs the system exists to serve. Controlled dissent—a spectacle of resistance, carefully managed and branded to appeal to disaffected voters, but never allowed to disrupt the flows of wealth and power.

The media colludes in this charade, amplifying populist soundbites whilst burying the structural critiques. The donors behind the scenes remain largely invisible, as does the strategic inaction that defines these figures when they are actually in power. The truth is this: they serve the same system, only with different slogans, different aesthetics, designed to reassure the public that change is possible, while ensuring that nothing fundamental ever changes. The result is stagnation, disillusionment, and a cycle of hope and betrayal, repeated endlessly, as the looting continues unabated.

The Market’s Mythology: Who Plays the Fiddle

One of the most pervasive myths of our time is the idea that “market forces” are natural, like the weather—something to be endured, not questioned. We are told that prices rise and fall, that jobs come and go, that fortunes are made or lost, all due to the invisible hand of the market, apolitical and impartial. This belief is not only false—it is dangerous. It masks the reality that markets are not natural phenomena; they are constructed environments, shaped by policy, power, and deliberate manipulation. They are rigged systems, designed by and for those who have the resources to bend the rules, to write the laws, and to set the terms of engagement.

Every so-called “market correction,” every “boom and bust,” every “unforeseen disruption” is in fact managed, often orchestrated, by those with access to capital and influence. When a housing market collapses, it is not an act of G-d—it is often the result of speculation, deregulation, and predatory lending. When healthcare costs soar, it is not due to scarcity, but because corporations set prices to maximise profits, knowing that people have no choice but to pay. The same is true for energy, food, education, and even labour itself—all subject to extraction, all treated as commodities, while the consequences are borne by ordinary people.

So the question is not what the market decides, but who decides for the market—who benefits, who profits, who plays the fiddle whilst the rest of us dance to a tune we never agreed to. The answer, time and again, is the same elite class—the oligarchs of finance, tech, energy, and insurance, who not only profit from chaos, but often create it deliberately. They have the tools, the algorithms, the lobbyists, the media influence to ensure that the market serves them, even in times of crisis. Especially in times of crisis.

For ordinary people, the game is fixed from the start. They are told to tighten their belts, to work harder, to invest wisely, but no amount of effort can counterbalance a system designed to extract. Belief in the neutrality of markets is the opiate of our age, a pacifying myth that keeps people compliant, hopeful, and unaware that they are being looted in plain sight. Until that myth is shattered, the fiddle will keep playing, and we will keep dancing towards disaster.

Cassandra’s Warning: What’s Coming

Sometimes I wonder if I should have chosen Cassandra as my name after coming out. Not Jaime, but Cassandra—the one who saw it all coming, who tried to speak the truth, and was ignored until it was too late. There’s a strange resonance in that myth, one I’ve come to feel more keenly with each passing year. I’ve restarted my life from zero, moving elsewhere four times, once starting anew in a language not my own, and I’ve lived and worked outside the United States, far enough away to see it as others do—not as a shining beacon, but as a declining empire, viewed with wariness, resentment, or pity. I know what the world thinks of America. It’s not flattering, nor is it inaccurate. That perspective, one many Americans don’t have, stays with me—and it sharpens the clarity of what’s unfolding now.

That clarity is also shaped by my autistic sense of justice, my need to speak the unspeakable, and my way of punching directly to the heart of things, even when others would rather look away. There’s no comfort for me in distraction or denial. I feel the shape of the world shifting, the weight of it pressing down, and my spidey sense is screaming. Not just in anxiety, but in recognition—a deep, embodied sense that something terrible is coming, and most people have no idea. They’re unprepared, not because they’re foolish, but because everything around them—media, politics, culture—works to keep them unaware.

What’s bearing down on us isn’t just another economic cycle or political squabble. It’s systemic collapse, engineered scarcity, and the final stages of enclosure, where everything that could be looted will have been looted, and those left standing will face a world gutted of public good, solidarity, and care. I’ve seen this play out before, in other places, in other lives. I’ve survived it. And that survival has left me with a perspective I can’t easily set aside—a knowing that won’t let me rest.

Writing is my way of bearing witness, of saying I saw it, I named it, I tried. I don’t expect to be heard—not by the masses, not in a culture where algorithms bury truth and reward spectacle—but I refuse to be silent. This isn’t about being right, or being remembered. It’s about holding fast to integrity, about naming the truth when it matters most. That, to me, is the Cassandra burden—to speak even when it seems no one is listening, because truth matters, even in the end.

Final thoughts …

The algorithms will bury these words. That much is certain. They are not the kind of words that drive engagement or sell ad space. They do not flatter power or offer comfort. They speak of what is being done to us, and by whom, and that makes them dangerous—not because they are false, but because they are true. And still, I write. Not because I believe I can change the course of what’s coming, but because truth matters, even when it is shouted into the void. Especially then.

History repeats not by accident, but because it is designed to—by those who profit from amnesia, who erase the past to control the present, and in doing so, shape the future. Unless we are willing to see the pattern, to name the looters, to refuse the myths we are fed, we will be swept along by forces we are told are inevitable, but are in fact orchestrated with precision.

This piece is not simply analysis. It is a warning. It is a record. It is a cry for attention in a moment when most are looking elsewhere, lulled into distraction while the final enclosures are being built around them. I write because someone must bear witness. Because someone must say, I saw this, I knew, I spoke.

And perhaps that’s the role I’ve always played, whether I chose the name Cassandra or not. Because even her words endured—cast aside at the time, yet remembered long after the ruin. Let mine endure too, not for glory, but for truth’s sake. Let them stand as evidence that some of us saw what was coming, and we did not stay silent.