July 1, 2020, will go down in the history of the Russian State as the date marking the beginning of its end.

On this day, we will definitively abandon the pretense of modern democracy and acknowledge that the country is heading towards a Central Asian-style satrapy. Russia will forgo its future because, in the interest of one (the first) person, time must be halted. Russia will abandon development because development is fraught with unpredictability. To ensure the tranquility of the first person and the timelessness of Russia, a free society within it will be frozen and ordered into the crystalline lattice of a police state.

Elections in Russia will finally cease to have any impact and will revert to the hollow ritual of submission to supreme power that they were under Soviet rule. A lifelong president will be able to ignore the Duma, resolving all contentious issues over its head, rendering both parliamentary opposition and the parliament itself meaningless.

By isolating himself from any critical voices, neutralizing all agents of change, and stuffing effigies of opposition figures who were already living out their days as circus animals, the president likely believes he is cementing for generations to come the Russia of his political youth. In reality, he is over-tempering the rebar in its framework, and the ill-conceived structure in the spirit of Gypsy Baroque, which we call "Putin's Russia," is now becoming excessively fragile. From now on, a partial system update will be impossible, and changes (alas) can only be achieved through rebellion. Changes will be necessary because Putin can only command time to stop within the bounds where his Constitution is upheld. The rest of the world will continue to move forward, and a tectonic rift will grow between the stagnant Russia and the rotating planet, which, no matter how much the authorities try to asphalt it over with patchwork amendments, will sooner or later swallow up the state, our governance, and us all.

The new Constitution is harmful to Russia, but that does not matter. It is adopted in the interest of one single person and with one single true purpose: to allow this person never to part with power again. The coyness with which he once answered questions about his intention to continue being "elected" president is forgotten. The previous Constitution, which already did not particularly restrain anyone, is nullified. The bashfulness with which the regime giggled when pointed out for its old cannibalistic habits is discarded. The moment of truth has arrived. When (but why now, of all times?) it came to choosing between maintaining a human visage and eternal power, the choice was not made in favor of the human visage.

Why is it so difficult for people to part with power? What does it do to a person? How, through what strings and gears, does it disrupt the human soul, what does it use to decompose it? Is it the intoxication of the ability to destroy and elevate others that creates such an addiction? Or the endless flattery and sycophancy from subordinates and subjects? The fear of death and the desire to conquer it by inscribing oneself in history books (whose publication you entrust to your old friends for safety)? The fear that your legacy (and inheritance) will be squandered? The general fear that your enemies will raise their heads and seek revenge?

Anyone who comes to power faces this temptation, regardless of the country, historical period, language, faith, or culture. One must be a titan to voluntarily relinquish power—and therefore, in advanced societies, everything is arranged so that power is limited from all sides, that being in power is painful, and that the temptation to strengthen and remain in power encounters insurmountable resistance. But titans rarely sit on the throne, perhaps because worldly power seems too vulgar to them.

In the beginning, Vladimir Vladimirovich told us he was simply "working." Now he believes that ruling Russia is his destiny. Where the road of professional deformation will lead him next, and where he will lead us along it, remains anyone's guess.

The master of our castle casts one last glance at his reflection before drawing the curtain over the last mirror forever, and from now on, he will remember himself only through the grand portraits of his youth, convincing himself and his serfs that he still looks exactly like that.

The chimes stop so that their grinding does not remind the President that even "lifelong" does not mean "eternal." The clock reads July 1, 2020.