Last week, during my 10-year-old son`s spring break trip, I read "Address Unknown". One of my investors and advisors recommended it. I wasn't sure what to expect, but his suggestions are always great, so I ordered it right away.
It is a short book, but unusually precise in what it captures: how ordinary people adjust to political power. It is difficult to read without a sense of delay, of having missed something obvious.
I read widely. Forty books a year, sometimes more. Very few stay with me. This one did. Not because of its historical setting, but because of how clearly it understands behavior under pressure.
The form matters. The story is told through letters. The writer steps back and lets the main characters speak to each other. There is no narrator explaining what to think. The reader is left to see the change line by line.
The book is set between 1932 and 1934. It was written and published in 1938, as Europe was moving toward war. The author was observing something as it was happening.
At the center are two men. Martin Schulse and Max Eisenstein. Business partners in an art gallery in San Francisco. Close friends. One American and Jewish. The other German. Their relationship is easy, built on trust and shared success.
Then Martin returns to Germany.
The story unfolds through letters. At first, nothing changes. Business, family, daily life. The tone is warm.
Then it shifts.
Not all at once.
Martinβs language becomes more careful. More ideological. Certain topics disappear. Others are reframed. He does not just adapt. He begins to justify what is happening around him. He defends the Nazi regime. He explains it. He normalizes it.
Max senses the change, but by then it is already deeper than tone. When Maxβs sister is in danger, Martin does nothing. He lets her die. Not out of confusion. Out of alignment.
There is no single moment where everything breaks. The shift happens through small decisions. Each one explained. Each one defended.
Until one day, there is nothing left to defend.
Until it is not the same relationship anymore.
That is why it stays with you.
In the United States, much of corporate America has not embraced political extremes. It has adjusted to them. Companies do not need to believe in a political direction to move with it. They only need to decide that resistance is costly.
Many believe this moment is temporary. Leaders come and go. The safest strategy is to wait it out. It is a rational view. These are public companies. They have shareholders. They are expected to protect value, not take political risk.
You cannot easily blame them.
But temporary moments have a way of becoming permanent. Especially when those in power test limits and face little resistance. Political transition becomes harder. The cost of losing power rises.
I have seen this before in my home country, Turkey.
I remember when certain journalists stopped appearing on TV. I remember and still see people keep it quite when innocent people get jailed.
At first, it felt temporary. Then it became normal.
I remember business leaders lowering their tone in private conversations. Not because they agreed. Because they calculated risk.
I remember thinking this would pass. That was the mistake.
There is always a justification.
He supports business.
Europe should take care of its own security.
Perhaps this is necessary.
Perhaps this is temporary.
There is always a reason to wait.
So corporate leaders speak less. They narrow their language. They move from public positions to private conversations.
What I saw was not collapse. It was bending.
There were term limits. They were changed. There were checks and balances. They weakened, then disappeared. Each step had an explanation. Each step felt contained.
At each stage, it still felt like the system was intact. That was the illusion.
Authoritarian leaders test limits. They watch the reaction. If there is no cost, they go further.
First, the law is stretched. Then it is reinterpreted. Then it is replaced.
Then one day, it does not pass.
The United States is not Turkey. The institutions are stronger. But the pattern is not unfamiliar.
Now I look at the United States.
The system is older. The institutions are stronger on paper. But the pace feels faster. The mechanism feels familiar. Because people lead the institutions.
Congress debates, but rarely stops. Corporate leaders stay quiet. Many within the political system adjust.
What unsettles me is how familiar this now feels.
Not one decision. Not one moment.
The pattern.
Each step meets less resistance than the one before.
Institutions do not collapse overnight. They continue to function. Courts still rule. Elections still happen.
But the space to push back becomes smaller.
And when that happens enough times, the new shape feels normal.
The question is always the same. When do you stand up?
There is no clear moment.
Each decision to stay silent feels rational. Wait. See. Avoid risk.
Individually, these choices make sense. Together, they create a system where no one acts.
By the time action feels necessary, it is already harder.
Address Unknown shows this with clarity. Nothing feels dramatic as it happens. Each step is small. Each choice is reasonable. Only later does the pattern become clear.
Published in 1938, it was widely read in the United States and banned in Germany.
The ending brings everything back to the beginning. Max, who once trusted his friend, uses the same system that changed Martin against him. The letters become a trap. What began as friendship ends in silence and destruction.
There is no speech. No redemption.
Only the result of many small decisions.
That is why the book lasts.
It shows how people adjust until they no longer recognize where they are. It shows how good people become bad people. It is how good people stop talking, and become catalyst of bad things.
I have seen this pattern before. I did not expect to see it here.
