Many people do not like what is happening in the world.
This feeling has become almost background noise — something people grow used to. They criticize, argue, grow tired, but increasingly stop proposing alternatives. Not because they have nothing to say, but because something more important has disappeared: the belief that any proposal actually matters.
People think less about development and more about adaptation. Not about how to live better, but about how to survive the next crisis. The future has ceased to be a space of meaning and has turned into an uncertain threat that one must prepare for — psychologically, financially, or emotionally.
Many still habitually wait for a leader to offer a solution. For a figure who will explain what is happening, set a direction, and restore a sense of stability. But this does not happen — and perhaps cannot happen. Not because those in power are necessarily bad or incompetent, but because the systems within which they operate were never built around the human being as a value.
We endlessly replace figures at the top, yet almost never touch the foundations. This creates the illusion of movement: new rhetoric, new slogans, new promises. The result, however, remains the same. The human being continues to exist not at the center, but at the periphery of decisions that shape their life.
Across all existing models — capitalist, socialist, authoritarian, or democratic — the human being remains either a resource, a function, or an object of governance. People are counted, measured, analyzed, yet rarely asked as sources of meaning. Decisions are made “in the name of,” “for the sake of,” or “on behalf of,” but almost never together.
With the arrival of new technologies, the situation did not improve. On the contrary, it accelerated. Tools became more powerful, while mistakes became larger. Technology amplified old models without correcting their fundamental flaw. When complex systems fall into the hands of immature thinking, a sense of dangerous mismatch arises — as if a grenade were handed to a monkey. Not out of malice, but out of a lack of inner measure.
In this context, conversations about a new system emerge more often. Yet it is crucial to abandon illusions from the outset. A human-centered system is not about saving the world and not about promising harmony. It does not offer ready-made answers and does not call people to follow it. It begins with a refusal of the very idea of salvation.
Its essence is not to replace one set of leaders with another, but to return responsibility to where it belongs — to the human being. Not as a burden, but as a right. Not as obedience, but as participation.
This inevitably raises an uncomfortable question: is the concentration of power in a single individual necessary at all? History shows that any solitary center of decision-making is a risk. Not because people are evil, but because people are vulnerable. They can be traumatized, captured by an idea, detached from reality, or simply unable to withstand the weight placed upon them.
For this reason, human-centered thinking naturally gravitates not toward a single pinnacle of power, but toward distributed responsibility. Toward councils instead of solitary rulers. Toward temporary trust instead of permanent mandates. Toward the possibility of withdrawal of authority not as a catastrophe, but as a normal mechanism of a mature system.
In this logic, the economy ceases to be the goal. It becomes a consequence. Its primary question is not growth and not profit, but the real quality of human life. Has life become calmer? More honest? More sustainable? If not, no indicators can be considered success.
Education, too, ceases to be a mechanism for producing “personnel.” It becomes protection against manipulation. The development of thinking, the ability to distinguish causes and consequences, and the courage to face complexity without hiding behind simple answers.
Any system that claims to be human must have red lines — things that cannot be justified by any goal. Governing through fear. Lies as an instrument. Violence as a norm. The use of children and the future as bargaining tools. Crossing these lines requires no debate — it automatically nullifies the right to govern.
This is not about a new utopia or replacing one system with another. It is about maturity. About the moment when many practices that seem inevitable today will, with time, be seen not as necessity, but as primitivism or shame.
When the human being returns to the center, much of what now appears unavoidable simply loses its meaning. And perhaps this is the most honest criterion of all — not what we promise, but what stops working on its own.