The creaking parquet floors and cold stone walls of the University of Toronto's central campus hold memories from the day it opened in 1827. The stained glass windows, the front facade of Trinity College, the heavy array of stairs and a mixture of Romanesque Revival dash Collegiate Gothic manifest its global reputation, bewitching its students with its mystique appearance.

On the northern side of the Munk School of Global Affairs and Public Policy works the distinguished Professor of Democracy in the Department of Political Science at the University of Toronto—Lucan Ahmad Way, where I had the privilege of meeting him for an interview.

His office, lined with a russet wooden bookcase filled with books and artifacts, reflects the breadth of his academic interests, showcasing a range of narratives that embody diverse global perspectives.

I have always admired people whose expressions and speech are characterized by passion towards their subject. When I first met Professor Way during the Introduction to Comparative Politics lecture, my attention was riveted completely by his eager teaching. The enthusiasm with which he talked about political science was inspiring and motivating for students, bringing clarity to complex ideas about democracy and authoritarianism.

As I later discovered, his devotion to political science gifted the academic world literary works that have been cited thousands of times and can already be considered classics in comprehending global patterns of democracy and dictatorship. Titles such as Competitive Authoritarianism: Hybrid Regimes after the Cold War (2010), Pluralism by Default: Weak Autocrats and the Rise of Competitive Politics (2015), and his most recent Revolution and Dictatorship: The Violent Origins of Durable Authoritarianism (2022) have set benchmarks for understanding the dynamics of governance across the world. These contributions continue to inspire new research on hybrid regimes and the evolution of democratic institutions, further influencing the education of both students and policymakers.

This interview aims to share Lucan Way’s inspiring journey of success, highlighting his authentic devotion to the field, the depth of his research, and how he uses his academic insights to shape critical thinkers. While his time in Eastern Europe undoubtedly shaped his early interests, his work transcends geographic boundaries, offering frameworks to understand democratic resilience and authoritarian entrenchment in a global context. His teaching encourages students to critically analyze political systems and empowers them to write, think, and engage with the world’s most pressing democratic challenges.

My journey began in high school when I developed a deep interest in Russia. I was captivated by Russian literature, especially works like Ivan Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons. Since my school didn’t offer Russian as a subject, I took the initiative to study it on my own with a tutor. Later, when I started my undergraduate studies at Harvard in 1986, I had the opportunity to formally pursue Russian language and culture.

It was an exciting time to study the Soviet Union—Gorbachev had just come to power, and the winds of change were sweeping through the USSR. In 1988, I visited the Soviet Union for the first time as part of a citizen exchange program, where I worked in a summer camp outside of Moscow. That experience left a lasting impression on me, and I felt an overwhelming desire to return.

I traveled across Communist Eastern Europe and eventually went back to Moscow in 1989 to study at the Pushkin Institute for Russian Language Studies. It was a fascinating period in Moscow’s history, marked by the first semi-free elections for the Congress of People’s Deputies. I became intrigued by the budding democratic politics and was drawn to the nascent civil society movements emerging in Moscow at the time.

My growing interest in political science led me to pursue a PhD at the University of California, Berkeley, where I shifted my focus to Ukraine. My dissertation centered on Ukrainian budgetary policy, which allowed me to explore the intricacies of governance in a post-Soviet context. I spent much of the mid-1990s living in Kyiv and Donetsk, immersing myself in the region and its politics.

Looking back, 1989 in Moscow was a time of extraordinary optimism. It felt as though anything was possible. I vividly remember engaging with groups like the Confederation of Anarchist Syndicalists. While anarchism may seem utopian and impractical, in that moment of radical change, it felt plausible.

However, that optimism didn’t last. By the early 1990s, the informal liberal groups that had been influential were sidelined. Events like Boris Yeltsin’s bombing of the White House signaled Russia’s slow descent into authoritarianism. This disillusionment forced me to confront the structural weaknesses of democracy in the region and shifted my focus to studying authoritarianism. Now, my main focus is on democracy and dictatorship.

Certainly, it felt very different at first! I still remember encountering some fascinating internalized superstitions. For instance, I still avoid shaking hands across a doorway—a habit I picked up while living in Russia and Ukraine. Another memorable experience was learning about the cultural attitude toward cold liquids when you're unwell. I vividly recall staying in an apartment in Donetsk while sick. All I wanted was a cold glass of orange juice, but the landlady firmly refused to give it to me. At the time, I couldn’t understand why, as it wasn’t something I grew up with. Interestingly, though, I’ve somewhat internalized that mindset over the years.

I had some very good language teachers, and at Harvard, there were always fascinating people coming through the university. For example, I took a seminar by Janos Kornai, a Hungarian economist who had a theory on shortages in Soviet systems. But for me, it was less about formal education and more about being in the region—living in Russia and Ukraine during transformative events like the Orange Revolution and Euromaidan. Those experiences were just as influential as any classroom.

Harvard was a great time. I met my best friend, Chrystia Freeland, who is now the deputy prime minister, when I was at Harvard. She was very interested in Ukraine. Ukraine, at the time, participated in the formation of the nationalist movement. She and I were actually in the Soviet Union from 1988 to 1989, around the same time. At Berkeley, I also had a very important experience; I met my co-author, Steven Levitsky. He and I still co-author quite a bit.

Initially, my passion was deeply tied to my personal connection with Moscow. In many ways, I grew up there—I became an adult in Moscow. It’s where I had my first job outside of college, my first apartment, and my first serious relationship. The region profoundly shaped my life and interests. Unfortunately, recent events, particularly the invasion, have strained many of those personal connections, as I lost friends who supported it.

Today, my motivation comes from a different, more personal place—my home. As an American, witnessing the significant crisis of democracy unfolding in the United States has given me a renewed sense of purpose. It’s no longer just about a region I once lived in; it’s about understanding and addressing the challenges that are reshaping the democratic fabric of my own country. This intimate connection to the subject matter drives my research and fuels my passion for teaching.

I haven’t observed significant changes over the long term, but what stands out recently—and is quite troubling—is the growing polarization around politics. This kind of division was not something I encountered earlier in my teaching career. In Canada, we’re somewhat removed from it, but even here, I’ve noticed students bringing polarized perspectives into the classroom. For instance, I’ve had a few students who were Trump supporters become quite contentious during discussions about American politics, which occasionally disrupted the class dynamic.

I make a conscious effort to maintain a non-partisan environment, encouraging a diversity of ideas and respectful dialogue. However, it’s increasingly challenging to discuss contemporary American democracy without addressing the stark contrasts between the two major parties. The Democratic Party in the United States remains a traditional, big-tent, establishment party, whereas the Republican Party has shifted into something quite different—more overtly authoritarian in its approach. I believe it’s crucial to highlight this reality because it shapes the current political climate, but acknowledging such facts can sometimes come across as partisan, making these discussions sensitive and complex.

Ultimately, this polarization makes teaching about modern politics more difficult, as I have to navigate these dynamics carefully while fostering constructive conversations.

I’m quite old-fashioned when it comes to technology. I forbid laptops in my lectures because I want students to focus entirely on the discussion. In fact, many students have told me that my class is the only time in their day they aren’t looking at a screen. I believe boredom—even brief moments of it—can spark creativity.

My first job was at Temple University in Philadelphia, and I was thrilled to be in an urban environment at that time. However, I was drawn to the University of Toronto because Toronto itself is a far more vibrant and dynamic city. While Philadelphia was appealing, the University of Toronto stands out due to its size, breadth of programs, and unique academic environment.

UTSC, in particular, is remarkable for its incredible diversity. As someone who studies authoritarianism, I find it invaluable to hear firsthand accounts from people with lived experiences in places like Iran and other regions. That diversity of perspectives is one of the things I truly enjoy about being at UTSC.

My teaching focuses on a few key areas. First, I aim to help students think critically about global events in a systematic way—understanding what democracy truly is and isn’t, identifying real points of crisis, and developing a deeper grasp of how political systems function. It’s not just about absorbing information but learning how to analyze and engage with the world thoughtfully.

Second, I emphasize the importance of clear, accessible writing. In academia, it’s crucial to communicate ideas in a way that anyone can understand. Too often, students think good writing means making grand, sweeping statements about history, but that approach can obscure the point. I stress the value of conciseness and clarity—getting straight to the argument. As Dostoyevsky once said, 'I'm sorry this letter is so long; I didn’t have time to make it shorter.' That insight captures the art of effective communication: brevity takes effort but is far more impactful.

Lastly, I remind students of the challenge of maintaining attention in a world filled with distractions. When writing, I tell them to treat the reader’s attention as a finite resource. Every word must count. Engaging the reader doesn’t just make for better writing—it also fosters better thinking.

The inspiration came from two main sources. First, it built on the ideas from my earlier book, Competitive Authoritarianism: Hybrid Regimes After the Cold War. In that book, Steven Levitsky and I argued that regimes founded on violent struggle tended to be more durable. This initial argument evolved into a broader exploration of how social revolutions shape authoritarian durability. While the earlier work focused on post-Cold War autocracies, Revolution and Dictatorship takes a more historical approach, examining foundational revolutions like those in Russia in 1917, Cuba, and China. The process of expanding and refining this idea was both challenging and deeply rewarding.

The second source of inspiration was my long-standing interest in Russia. During the 1980s, I took several courses on Soviet history and Stalinism, and much of my reading at that time predated the opening of the archives. Revisiting that period with the benefit of modern research was incredibly exciting. We now have a much richer understanding of Stalinism than was available when I first studied it, and writing the Soviet chapter of the book felt particularly fulfilling.

Lastly, there was a personal connection that made the project special to me. My stepfather’s family were Jewish socialists, and his grandfather, Henrik Ehrlich, was a Menshevik during the 1917 revolution. This familial link to such a pivotal historical moment gave the chapter on Russia a deeper, more personal resonance.

Steven Levitsky and I have a close friendship that dates back to graduate school in 1993. This strong relationship forms the foundation of our successful collaboration. One of the reasons our partnership works so well is that we agree on most substantive issues, particularly when it comes to our theoretical perspectives. We both share a passion for in-depth historical narrative approaches, which play to our strengths as researchers.

Our respective regional expertise also complements each other perfectly—Steven specializes in Latin America, while I focus on Eastern Europe. This natural division guided the way we approached the book. Steven drafted the initial chapters on Latin America, and I began with the chapters on Eastern Europe. From there, we worked together to integrate these sections into a cohesive narrative.

Working with Steven is not only productive but also incredibly enjoyable. We have a great time as friends, often laughing and joking as we work. When disagreements arise, they’re typically over very minor details, such as specific wording or phrasing in the text. These debates are always constructive, and our mutual respect ensures we quickly find common ground.

As an academic in the world of ideas, one lesson from my mother has always stood out: ideas are cheap. What truly matters is the hard work required to turn those ideas into reality. Many people are smart, and many people have great ideas, but the real difference lies in the ability to put in the effort, discipline, and perseverance to make those ideas a reality.

My co-author Steven Levitsky and I are now working on a book about the crisis of American democracy. We’re exploring how the United States is trending toward competitive authoritarianism. It’s a pressing issue, and I’m motivated to examine it deeply, just as I’ve done with hybrid regimes and other global challenges.