Roman Vasilenko’s Truth for Everyone: 23 Laws Against the Backdrop of History
A Review of the Book Through the Lens of Cultural and Historical Context
Roman Vasilenko’s Truth for Everyone (St. Petersburg: UPI LLC, 2026, 208 pages) comes at a time when the business literature genre is experiencing a crisis of credibility. Readers are tired of promises of easy success and are looking, if not for the truth, then at least for an honest conversation. In this respect, Vasilenko’s book is interesting not only as a collection of practical advice but also as a cultural document of its time—an attempt to formulate the “rules of the game” in a world where old norms have been dismantled and new ones have yet to take shape. Let us examine it in precisely this context.
Ancient and Renaissance Roots
The very idea of reducing life wisdom to a set of laws is deeply rooted in antiquity. The author himself directs readers to Machiavelli and Sun Tzu, and this is no coincidence: Truth for Everyone continues, in many respects, the tradition of The Prince and The Art of War—works that do not moralize but instead describe how the struggle for power and influence works. The quotation from Clausewitz that opens the chapter on changing the rules of the game, along with the phrase cui bono (“who benefits?”) in the introduction, place the book within a long tradition of political realism, stretching from Roman jurists to Orwell, whose question “How many fingers, Winston?” becomes a central metaphor for critical thinking in Vasilenko’s work. What is particularly noteworthy is that the author does not simply quote the classics; he engages them in a dialogue. When he writes, “Do not be naive, and do not look for simple answers. Reality is what it is,” his words echo Machiavelli’s view that people remain what they have always been, but translate the idea into language accessible to the modern reader, who needs not merely a description of human nature but a tool for surviving in a world shaped by it.
His reference to the principle of “divide and rule” is equally telling. The author traces it from Machiavelli and Roman politics through the colonial partition of Africa to the genocide in Rwanda. Here, the book moves beyond business literature and becomes a short historical essay on how the same tactic operates at different levels, from office politics to geopolitics. Vasilenko is unafraid to draw on examples that might seem “uncomfortable” in a business book: Rwanda, genocide, colonial borders. Yet these very examples give his argument about “changing the rules of the game” a seriousness that motivational books often lack. When he explains how the Belgians “simplified the system of tribal governance” by transferring control to the Tutsi, and how this contributed to the deaths of a million people, readers understand that he is not talking about harmless office games. He is discussing mechanisms that, on a national scale, can cost lives. This changes the perspective: after such an example, the phrase “change the rules of the game” no longer sounds like an invitation to harmless mischief but rather a warning about the gravity of the stakes.
The Soviet and Post-Soviet Experience
The cultural context in which the book exists is largely post-Soviet. Vasilenko himself emphasizes that “just twenty years ago, we were enthusiastically pressing the buttons on our indestructible Nokia phones.” His experience is that of someone whose career unfolded during the collapse of one era and the emergence of another, when old connections lost their value and new ones had to be built from scratch. This explains his heightened attention to social capital, with a reference to Pierre Bourdieu in the chapter about finding one’s own tribe; to reputation as a form of “capital” that “cannot be borrowed at short notice”; and to the challenge of surviving in turbulent times. It is telling that the book contains almost no nostalgia for “stability.” The author calls it “a polite name for a coma” and insists that instability is precisely the environment in which rapid growth is possible. This is the worldview of someone who not only lived through the collapse of an era but also learned how to live amid its upheavals. For him, a crisis is not a catastrophe but “the best time to achieve success and become a leader.”
The chapter about “weeds among people” is particularly characteristic, with its gardening metaphor. The image of a garden that needs weeding is almost archetypal in Russian culture; one might recall, for instance, the scenes of mowing and farm work in War and Peace. Vasilenko translates this image into a modern context: your social circle is a garden bed, and you must tend to it. But there is another important aspect. His classification of “weeds”—complainers, fools, critics, and gossips—is not merely an everyday typology. It reflects the post-Soviet trauma of dealing with people who “know everything but do nothing.” In a country where, for decades, the ability to “keep your head down” and “fit in” was valued, the figure of the complainer or habitual fault-finder takes on an almost symbolic meaning. These are not simply unpleasant people; they embody the very psychology of passive survival that the author urges readers to abandon as decisively as they would pull weeds from a garden bed.
The figure of Father Methodius, the abbot of Valaam who remembered more than five thousand names and wished each person a happy birthday, is equally revealing. This example emerges from the same post-Soviet experience, in which the sacred and the business world are not separated by an impenetrable wall. Vasilenko sees no contradiction between “weeding out” people from one’s social circle and taking inspiration from someone who “was simply himself—a person who knew how to create genuine connections.” On the contrary, he shows that genuine loyalty is built not on self-interest but on “sincere interest, attentiveness, and mutual respect.” This is a distinctly Russian—and distinctly post-Soviet—idea: in a world where formal institutions inspire little trust, personal relationships become the foundation on which everything else rests.
Eastern and Western Traditions
One of the book’s most interesting features is the way it brings together two cultural currents. On the one hand, there is Western pragmatism: case studies of Netflix, Airbnb, Shein, and McDonald’s, references to game theory, and experiments involving mirror neurons. On the other hand, there is Eastern wisdom: the parable of the grasshopper and the crow, a Sufi story about a raja and a young man, and the I Ching (Book of Changes), with its metaphor of water that “increases its volume and strength” when it encounters an obstacle. This duality reflects the reality of the modern reader, who lives in a globalized world but seeks grounding in tradition.
This is not eclecticism for its own sake. When Vasilenko recounts a Lao folktale about a grasshopper that escapes a crow by speaking to a judge “in his own language,” it is not merely an entertaining parable. It illustrates a distinctly Western business principle: “speak to people in their own language.” Similarly, when he tells a Sufi story about a young man who kills the raja who saved his life because he cannot bear the burden of an unrepayable debt, he is illustrating a thoroughly pragmatic rule: “do not do anything for someone that they will be unable to repay.” The Eastern parable is not decorative; it is a tool. It allows the author to express an idea that might sound too cynical in Western business literature. Saying “do not help too much, or people will come to hate you” could make someone seem misanthropic. Telling a Sufi parable allows them to retain the image of a wise person. Vasilenko uses this technique skillfully: he delivers hard truths but presents them in a form that is less likely to provoke resistance.
Western pragmatism, meanwhile, is not treated as raw material either. The Netflix case, in which the company “killed its old successful business for the sake of some future,” is not simply a success story; it illustrates the principle “forget past successes.” The Shein case, in which the company “turned the chessboard upside down” in the fashion industry, illustrates the principle “change the rules of the game.” The Epic Games case, in which the company sued Apple and “changed the rules of the game,” illustrates the principle “assert your rights.” Each Western case serves as evidence in Vasilenko’s argument: this is how things are done in the real world, and these are the consequences of particular decisions. This lends the book a persuasiveness that purely philosophical treatises often lack. The author does not merely say, “Be decisive.” He shows what happens to those who fail to act decisively.
The Author as a Cultural Archetype
Vasilenko is a characteristic figure of his time: a man who has passed through military college, business, travel, and public life and now assumes the role of mentor. His “Parting Words” are written in the style of a stern sermon: “Stability is a polite name for a coma.” This connects the book to the Russian tradition of instructional literature, from Vladimir Monomakh’s Instruction to Soviet-era “conversations about what really matters,” except that Christian morality has been replaced by the morality of effectiveness. It is telling that, in the acknowledgments, the author calls his team a “family,” while in the chapter on loyalty he cites Father Methodius, the abbot of Valaam, as an example. For Vasilenko, the sacred and the business world coexist without conflict.
There is another cultural archetype embodied by Vasilenko: the “man who has returned from war.” Not literally, of course, although his military education and his ascent of Mount Elbrus are not incidental details in his biography. Rather, the image is metaphorical. He has endured trials that hardened his character and now speaks to readers as someone who knows what it means when “everything goes to hell.” This explains his toughness, his refusal to “coddle” readers, and his conviction that “a problem is not a punishment but a test of resilience.” It is a familiar tone: the voice of someone who has stood on the edge and survived. And today, that tone is in greater demand than ever, in a world full of stories about “success for success’s sake” and short on honest conversations about the price of achievement.
Another feature is equally revealing: Vasilenko does not hide the fact that his book is not just a collection of advice but also a form of self-defense. In the chapter on reputation, he openly states that he is writing it at a time when he himself is the target of an information attack. This gives the text an additional dimension: readers understand that the author is not theorizing but sharing his experience of survival. This, too, is a cultural archetype: the person who speaks the truth because he has already paid a price for it. In the Russian tradition, this figure has long been held in high regard, from Avvakum to Solzhenitsyn. Vasilenko, of course, does not claim to be on their scale, but he operates within a similar paradigm: “I speak about what I know because it has cost me dearly.”
What the Book Leaves Unaddressed
The historical context also helps reveal the book’s limitations. It is written in the tradition of “advice from a winner,” a genre that always exists in the shadow of a difficult question: what should those do who have lost through no fault of their own? Vasilenko addresses this in the final chapter, which discusses problems and different responses to crises, but his framework is built around personal responsibility and willpower. The history of the twentieth century, however, reminds us that not everything depends on taking a “Himalayan step.” Sometimes circumstances are simply stronger than the individual. The book does not deny this, but neither does it explore the issue in depth.
This limitation becomes especially apparent when the author discusses “justice.” He states bluntly: “Justice does not exist. There are only people with different levels of power and resources.” For readers raised in a worldview based on the principle that “all people are equal,” this sounds like a challenge. Yet the historical context suggests that this statement reflects the experience of someone who lived through an era in which “equality” was the official ideology while reality looked very different. Vasilenko is not so much declaring that the world is unjust as warning readers not to expect someone else to come along and restore justice. That is their responsibility: either negotiate with those who hold greater power or establish their own rules. Harsh? Yes. But behind this harshness lies the clear-eyed realism of someone who knows how costly illusions can be.
There is another limitation: the book says very little about what to do if you have already lost everything. The chapter on problems explains how to behave during a crisis, but it assumes that you have resources at your disposal—a team, a reputation, and determination. What if you have none of these? What if you have lost everything and must start from scratch? Vasilenko touches on this subject in the chapter on weaknesses, with the principle “use what you have,” but does not develop it further. This is not a criticism so much as an observation that the book is written for people who are already in the game, rather than those who are only preparing to enter it. Even so, that is no small achievement: in a world with too many books for beginners and too few for those who want to keep progressing, Truth for Everyone occupies its own niche.
Conclusion
Truth for Everyone is a culturally revealing work. It is neither a textbook nor a philosophical treatise, but a mirror of its time, reflecting the post-Soviet experience of survival, the Western cult of effectiveness, the Eastern affinity for parables, and the Russian tradition of moral instruction. It is worth reading not only for its practical advice but also as a testament to how modern people search for rules in a world without rules. In this search, the author is honest: he does not promise that the rules will be fair; he simply says that they must be understood. As Orwell wrote, “How many fingers, Winston?” It is a question every era must ask anew.
But the book contains another layer that makes it particularly relevant today. Vasilenko writes that “the world is not divided into ‘good’ and ‘bad’ people; it is divided into those who achieve results and those who make excuses.” This is a formula that is both appealing and off-putting. It appeals because it offers clarity: here is the standard by which you will be judged, whether you like it or not. It repels because it leaves little room for “objective circumstances.” Yet this very tension is what gives the book its character. It does not offer comfort; it makes demands. And perhaps that is precisely why it deserves to be read—not as a collection of tips, but as an invitation to discuss which rules we are prepared to accept and which we are willing to change.