As for why so many Tunisian secularists and liberals—who might have otherwise been expected to defend democracy—found themselves tempted by Saied's strongman routine, part of the explanation lies in the Middle East's longstanding democratic dilemma. Appreciating democracy in theory is different than liking its outcomes in practice. In Tunisia, as in much of the rest of the region, democratization produced Islamist gains. Even as Ennahda, the country's main Islamist party, hemorrhaged support and popularity, it still ended up as the largest parliamentary bloc after the 2019 elections due to the fragmentation of its secular competitors. Rachid Ghannouchi, Ennahda's controversial co-founder and president, became speaker of parliament, the same parliament that Saied summarily shuttered on day one of his coup a year ago. As Sharan Grewal, Ian DeHaven and Salah-Dean Satouri noted recently in The Washington Post, the prospect of reinstating that dissolved parliament is a sticking point for the opposition, since it would mean a return to perceived Islamist control.

For many ordinary Tunisians, the sources of dissatisfaction were more general and universal. The 2011 revolution, like any revolution, brought with it great expectations. Those expectations were not met, in part because they couldn't be. Democracies, on average, deliver better economic outcomes in the long run. Citizens, however, don't live in the long run. Over 10 years, as Tunisia's economy struggled and then suffered, Tunisians suffered in turn. Kais Saied promised them a better life. What did they have to lose? The answer, sadly, is: a lot. Economies aren't something one man can fix alone. Democracy, however, is something one man can destroy—if enough people let him.