Bearded old men running scared will lose, though it may take a while 

Willem Buiter

Whenever the cumulative effect of the daily observation, looking out of my window or into the mirror, of human inequity and wretchedness brings me to the point that I am convinced the human race is an evolutionary dead end, something incredible happens to restore my faith that a hunger for freedom and an unquenchable thirst for justice and fairness are part of our genetic code.  Crowds often become mobs and mobs are mostly ugly and destructive.  The sight of large numbers of unarmed people, most of them young, facing heavily armed police, regular army, militia or other armed thugs is awe-inspiring.

Hungary 1956

My first political memory dates to 1956.  As a seven year old, I was glued to the radio, listening with my parents and older sister to radio Budapest broadcasting appeals for help in every language under the sun "... help ons,    help ons...".  Then suddenly a loud noise, as of doors being broken down, and then silence.  The tanks won that day.  Imre Nagy was murdered by the Soviet Regime.  But the spirit of 1956 lived on and burst through in 1968.

Czechoslovakia 1968

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Watching the full sadness of what is going on in the streets of Iran, I cannot but be an optimist.

Apparently I am the same age as Buiter so this is a chronicle of events I too have witnessed from afar.  I found it really quite moving.  Who knew a FT economist could be so inspiring.

Please read the whole thing.