Fascism

The One We Really Don't Want to Repeat

Morning, All.

Apropose of nothing, I’ve decided to share a full chapter of ‘Bear Necessities of Politics and Power’ today.

Make of it what you will, and as ever, your thoughts are always welcome.

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“Fascism is not in itself a new order of society. It is the future refusing to be born.” - Aneurin Bevan

Cut to a family dinner, the table groaning under the weight of too much roast beef and not enough salad. The air is thick with tension—those who’ve been here before know exactly what’s coming. At the head of the table, Uncle Fascism is already in full flow, his voice booming like a drill sergeant, as the rest of the family exchanges nervous glances, too polite—or too terrified—to interrupt. He’s the kind of guy who, no matter the topic of conversation, finds a way to steer it back to one of his favourite subjects: discipline, order, and the good old days when “people knew their place.”

Uncle Fascism slams his fork down and starts waving his hands, punctuating every word as though his point isn’t already clear.

“Look at what’s happened to this country,” he says, jabbing his finger at an invisible enemy. “Everyone's running wild! No respect for authority, no discipline. Back in my day—now that was a time when people understood real values. People worked hard, and if they didn’t, well, they knew the consequences. If you let people do whatever they want, chaos reigns.”

Across the table, Cousin Liberalism shifts uncomfortably, clearly trying to muster the courage to respond. But Uncle Fascism has spotted the movement, and like a hawk, he pounces.

“Liberalism! Don’t even get me started on all this talk about freedom and equality. You think that’s what people need? No, what they need is order. They need strong leadership—someone to take charge and set things straight.”

At this, the younger family members—the ones who’ve seen too many dystopian movies—share uneasy glances. You know the type: sleek haircuts, trendy glasses, the kind of people who shop at farmer’s markets but also have a sneaky subscription to Amazon Prime. They know where this conversation is going. They’ve heard it before. It’s never just about “strong leadership,” and it certainly isn’t about benevolent discipline.

"You're talking about dictatorship, not discipline," says one of the more outspoken nieces, who’s fresh out of university and still optimistic about the world. Her tone is cautious but firm. "People want freedom, not... whatever this is."

Uncle Fascism’s face flushes. “Freedom? Oh, freedom is overrated. Look where your so-called freedom has gotten us. Chaos in the streets! Immigrants pouring in, people rioting, everyone thinking they can say or do whatever they want. Well, not in my house!” He hits the table with a meaty thump for emphasis. “What we need is control. Structure. And yes, discipline. These people you’re talking about? The immigrants, the dissidents—they need to be put in their place. They’re the ones ruining everything.”

Cue a nervous silence. No one’s quite sure how to respond to Uncle Fascism’s thinly veiled calls for authoritarianism without kicking off a full-blown argument, but the disdain is clear. Especially for anyone who dares to deviate from the script of rigid conformity Uncle Fascism so desperately clings to.

Behind Uncle Fascism’s bravado is the heart of the ideology itself—this desire for complete and total control, an obsession with order at all costs. But for all his talk of strength, what really lies at the core of his belief system is fear. Fear of difference, fear of change, fear of anything that challenges the rigid social hierarchy he’s built his identity around.

In Uncle Fascism’s world, there’s always a scapegoat—someone to blame for why things aren’t perfect. Whether it’s immigrants, minorities, or just people who won’t fall in line, they’re the source of all society’s problems. And the solution, according to him? Crack down. Hard.

"Look, Uncle," pipes up the sensible middle child, a blend of cautious conservatism and pragmatic liberalism. "I get it. People are scared of the world changing too fast. But we can’t just throw away democracy and freedom because things are tough. Authoritarianism doesn't solve problems—it just creates new ones. You’re not fixing anything by getting rid of dissent. You’re just silencing voices."

Uncle Fascism huffs, crossing his arms in defiance. “Silencing the wrong voices, you mean. There’s a reason certain people shouldn’t have a platform—because they’re the ones tearing this country apart! If people don’t like it, they can leave.”

There it is—that line, the catchphrase of authoritarianism: “If you don’t like it, leave.

” No room for compromise, no room for debate. Just unquestioning obedience to the state. Because at the end of the day, Fascism isn’t about strength or security. It’s about submission—everyone fitting into neat little boxes, doing as they’re told.

The dinner ends, as it always does, with Uncle Fascism retreating into angry silence, the room thick with unspoken disapproval. Everyone leaves with a sense of unease, knowing that even though the conversation has ended for now, the ideology still lurks at the edges of political discourse, waiting for the right moment to rear its head again.

Philosophical Foundations of Fascism

Fascism is the unruly, illegitimate, and, quite bluntly, evil offspring of radical authoritarianism and ultranationalism, raised on a steady diet of flag-waving and intolerance. It rejects everything that makes modern democracy bearable—like individual rights or, heaven forbid, social safety nets. Liberalism's annoying obsession with personal freedoms? Fascism rolls its eyes. Socialism's lofty dreams of workers' paradise? Fascism sneers. None of that matters if The Nation isn’t perched on its imaginary throne of glory, and anyone who isn’t on board can expect the boot of the state on their neck.

Enter Giovanni Gentile, who gave fascism its fancy ideological polish. Gentile wasn’t interested in collectivism where you share things with your neighbour—this wasn’t a socialist potluck. No, Gentile’s collectivism was the kind where the individual exists for one reason only: to serve the almighty state. Want freedom? Fascism has just the thing for you—freedom to obey without question. Anything else would be selfish, unpatriotic, and—let’s face it—dangerous to the perfect harmony of a nation-state that demands your complete submission.

Gentile’s philosophy was a bizarre cocktail of ultranationalism spiked with spiritual drivel about the state being the “ethical” entity above all else. His intellectual gymnastics were just what Mussolini needed to transform Italy into a well-oiled police state. Why bother with pesky individual rights when you can have mass loyalty and unwavering devotion to the state? And questioning authority? Perish the thought. After all, Gentile argued, if the state says it’s ethical, who are you—just a lowly individual—to say otherwise?

Understanding the basics of this philosophical mess is key to grasping why fascism still manages to seduce some parts of society. It sells a seductive cocktail of national pride, a sense of belonging, and the illusion of strength—all while erasing individuality. By scaring the living daylights out of people with talk of societal chaos and instability, fascism swoops in with its authoritarian "solutions

" that just so happen to involve violence, censorship, and your very soul bowing to the almighty state.

Marching Towards Disaster: A Brief History of Fascism

Fascism didn’t just emerge out of thin air; it was born from the wreckage of a Europe ravaged by World War I, where national pride was shattered, economies lay in ruins, and millions of people were left disillusioned and desperate. The promises of liberal democracy seemed hollow, and as the old order crumbled, people sought radical alternatives. Enter Benito Mussolini, the Italian strongman who forged the first Fascist state, and in doing so, gave the world a blueprint for authoritarianism dressed up as national revival.

Mussolini’s promise? To restore Italy’s lost glory, a rallying cry for a nation still reeling from its perceived humiliation in the Great War. Fascism, as he envisioned it, would unite the country not through messy democracy, but through strict discipline, hierarchy, and militaristic zeal. He created a state where the individual was subsumed by the needs of the nation, where dissent was crushed, and where public life became little more than a stage for endless parades, martial vigour, and nationalist propaganda. The trains might not have actually run on time, but Mussolini made sure everyone thought they did.

But Fascism didn’t stop at Italy’s borders. It caught the attention of another disillusioned European: Adolf Hitler. If Mussolini’s Fascism was an iron fist of authoritarianism, Hitler’s Nazism was the fist wrapped in a swastika, wielding a terrifying weapon: racial hatred. Where Mussolini sought to revive Italian pride through discipline, Hitler took that basic formula and infused it with a lethal cocktail of antisemitism, racial purity, and genocidal nationalism. For Hitler, Fascism wasn’t just about order; it was about eliminating anyone who didn’t fit his twisted vision of Aryan supremacy. What followed, as we know too well, was one of the darkest chapters in human history: the Holocaust, a war of conquest, and the brutal subjugation of millions.

Yet, Fascism wasn’t limited to Italy and Germany. It was a political virus that spread across Europe and beyond. In Spain, General Francisco Franco rose to power after a bloody civil war, establishing a fascist dictatorship that would last until his death in 1975. Across Eastern Europe and even parts of South America, authoritarian regimes took root, often adopting the militaristic, nationalist trappings of Fascism. Though they wore different faces and marched under different flags, they shared a common DNA: the rejection of democracy, the embrace of authoritarian control, and an obsession with creating a homogenous national identity by excluding or violently erasing those who didn’t fit.

What all these regimes had in common—whether it was Mussolini’s Italy, Hitler’s Germany, or Franco’s Spain—was that they promised order, unity, and strength in a time of chaos and uncertainty. And what they all shared, too, was the way they ended: in catastrophe. Fascism may have claimed to restore national greatness, but it dragged countries into wars, crushed civil liberties, and left scars that have yet to heal. The promise of order came at the cost of unimaginable human suffering.

Fascism is NOT a Left-Wing Ideology

And now, before we get too deep into this chapter, let’s address one of the most pervasive conspiracy theories circulating today: the idea that Fascism is somehow a left-wing ideology. It’s a myth that refuses to die, often promoted by those with little grasp of history or political theory. Yes, the Nazi Party had the word "socialism" in its name—National Socialist German Workers' Party—but don’t be fooled by that superficial detail. Hitler’s "socialism" was a grotesque distortion, a tool to rally support while crushing the very working-class movements that real socialism aimed to empower. Fascism, at its dark-hearted core, was about preserving and strengthening hierarchies, not dismantling them. It was about propping up the elites, not empowering the masses. It was a movement of brutal repression, designed to maintain the power of the few at the expense of the many.

Far from being an ideology of the left, Fascism was the workers’ worst nightmare. It shattered trade unions, suppressed strikes, and turned the state into an instrument of violent repression, ensuring that any challenge to the status quo was met with the full force of the law—and often, far worse.

Fascism doesn’t just prey on nationalism and fear—it’s also remarkably good at manipulating capitalism to serve its authoritarian goals. In Nazi Germany, Hitler promised jobs, infrastructure, and prosperity, but behind the scenes, the regime was working hand-in-hand with industrialists and the economic elite. Major corporations—like Krupp and IG Farben—profited enormously from Hitler’s war machine and were more than happy to fund a regime that would keep workers in line and boost their profits.

The fascist state claimed to champion the "common man," but in reality, it was a corporate dream: trade unions were crushed, strikes were outlawed, and the state dictated labour policy to ensure a docile, productive workforce. Far from empowering workers, fascism used the illusion of national unity to protect the interests of the wealthy, all while pretending to care about economic equality. It was a brilliant con, one that still echoes today as far-right movements continue to co-opt economic discontent while selling out to the highest bidder.

So, the next time someone named Brian88149492 on Twitter tells you that “Fascism is left-wing you simping cuck”, maybe ask them why Hitler’s regime executed communists, sent trade unionists to concentration camps, and aligned itself with the industrialists and aristocrats. The reality is that Fascism was, and remains, the enemy of progressive movements. Its central tenet has always been the consolidation of power in the hands of a select few, achieved through violence, fear, and division.

Manipulation of Media and Symbols

Fascists may be many things—ruthless, authoritarian, power-hungry—but one thing they excel at is salesmanship. Joseph Goebbels practically invented the art of political branding, turning propaganda into a weapon so effective it would make Orwell’s worst dystopias look like a children’s puppet show. The secret? It’s not rocket science—just lie. A lot. Repeat the lie enough times, slap it on every available surface, and voilà, it becomes “truth.” In a fascist regime, facts are more dangerous than dissenters, so they bury them under a pile of patriotism, fearmongering, and endless praise for the glorious leader. If people start thinking for themselves, the whole dictatorship gig might fall apart.

Symbols become omnipresent in this nightmare marketing campaign. Take your pick: swastikas, black shirts, or those disturbingly choreographed parades where everyone salutes in perfect sync, as if individual thought were a deadly disease. These symbols aren’t just badges of loyalty—they’re the psychological chains that bind individuals to the fascist state. And if you’re not marching in lockstep with the crowd, you’re probably next on the state’s hit list.

Rallies, meanwhile, are fascism’s bread and butter. Nothing says “cult of personality” like a stadium full of people screaming their adoration for the dear leader. Goebbels, ever the master propagandist, knew that the trick to maintaining power was simple: control the media, and you control the masses. Every radio broadcast, every newspaper headline, and every film was just another cog in the machine, designed to drown out dissent and ensure that the only voice people heard was the state’s.

Propaganda isn’t just a tool for fascism—it’s the oxygen that keeps the regime alive. Understanding how these regimes manipulated media and symbols is essential if you want to grasp why fascism works so effectively. The methods Goebbels perfected didn’t vanish when the Third Reich collapsed—they’re alive and well. Just look around. Nationalist symbols still dominate public spaces, state-controlled media spreads the official narrative, and leaders frame any criticism as a betrayal of the nation. The fascist playbook? Still depressingly relevant.

Gender Roles and Fascism

Fascism didn’t just want to control the state—it also had grand plans for your personal life, right down to the bedroom. Fascist regimes promote a rigid, joyless version of gender roles, hammering patriarchal structures into place with all the finesse of a drunk carpenter. In the fascist playbook, women were seen as baby factories first, human beings second. Mussolini, Hitler, Franco—they were all obsessed with birth rates, convinced that the only way to secure the nation’s future was for women to pump out as many patriotic offspring as possible. Preferably boys, of course, to fuel the next generation of soldiers and obedient citizens who would die for the fatherland.

In fact, the more children you had, the better. In Nazi Germany, if you managed to produce four or more kids, you’d be rewarded with the "Mother’s Cross"—because apparently, the best way to measure a woman’s worth was by counting the number of blonde-haired, blue-eyed babies she could churn out. Who needs career aspirations or personal autonomy when you can have a shiny medal for your uterus?

And let’s not forget the LGBTQ+ community, who were treated as walking threats to the perfect, heterosexual family unit. Homosexuality wasn’t just frowned upon—it was criminalised. Brutally. Anyone who dared defy traditional gender norms was persecuted with brutal efficiency. The message was clear: step outside the rigid, state-approved family structure, and you weren’t just different—you were a danger to the nation itself.

Fascism’s obsession with gender roles is just another way of asserting control. Individual freedom, whether political or personal, was the enemy. By forcing women into traditional roles and crushing anyone who deviated from the norm, fascist regimes made it clear that they weren’t just interested in controlling your vote—they wanted control over your most private choices, too.

Modern Fascism: Same Old Tricks, New Branding

Fascism didn’t die with Hitler in his bunker or Mussolini hanging from a lamppost in Milan. It didn’t fade quietly into the annals of history, a tragic lesson never to be repeated. Instead, it rebranded. Fascism evolved, slipped into new clothes, and learned to speak a different language while clinging fiercely to the same authoritarian playbook. In today’s world, you’re less likely to see fascists openly waving swastikas or parading through the streets in brownshirts, but the underlying messages remain disturbingly familiar: hyper-nationalism, authoritarian leadership, and a deep-seated distrust of immigrants, minorities, and anyone deemed an “other.”

Let’s start with a clear example: Hungary. Under Viktor Orbán, Hungary has increasingly moved toward what Orbán himself proudly calls “illiberal democracy.” Nationalist rhetoric, a crackdown on independent media, the demonisation of immigrants, and sweeping control over the judiciary have all become part of Orbán’s governance style. He positions himself as the defender of European Christian values against the “threat” of multiculturalism and Islam. It’s a play straight from the fascist handbook, just with fewer armbands.

Then there’s Poland, where the ruling Law and Justice Party (PiS) has systematically undermined judicial independence and cracked down on LGBTQ+ rights, all while positioning itself as the protector of the Polish nation against external threats—be they the European Union, migrants, or liberalism itself. Nationalism has been weaponised, and once again, the idea of the nation-state, pure and indivisible, is pitted against an imagined enemy that threatens to destabilise “traditional values.”

Across the Atlantic, Brazil has flirted with its own brand of fascist tendencies under Jair Bolsonaro. His presidency was marked by extreme right-wing populism, nationalist rhetoric, and a dangerous disregard for democratic norms. Bolsonaro consistently undermined democratic institutions, demonised political opponents, and fuelled division, all while riding a wave of economic discontent and fear. His rule was a mix of militaristic nostalgia and authoritarian governance that should send shivers down anyone’s spine. And even with him out of office, the political ecosystem that allowed him to thrive hasn’t disappeared.

And then, of course, there’s the United States, where fascist ideas have found new life under the guise of populism. Donald Trump’s presidency brought authoritarianism back into the mainstream in a way that hadn't been seen in generations. From his open disdain for democratic norms—encouraging violence, threatening opponents, undermining elections, and appealing to white nationalist sentiments—to his use of scapegoating immigrants and Muslims, Trump’s America walked perilously close to the fascist edge. Even after losing the 2020 election, Trump’s influence on the far-right continues to cast a long shadow. The Capitol insurrection of January 6, 2021, was a terrifying display of how far-right populism, fuelled by lies and conspiracies, can spiral into open violence. The spectre of fascism has re-emerged in America’s far-right movements, like the Proud Boys, white supremacist groups, and other militia-style organisations emboldened by Trump's rhetoric.

France has also seen the rise of far-right populism with Marine Le Pen’s National Rally. Though she’s attempted to soften the image of her party by dropping overtly racist language, her platform remains grounded in anti-immigrant, nationalist, and anti-EU policies. Le Pen has carefully repackaged far-right ideas into a brand more palatable for mainstream voters, but the underlying themes of exclusion, control, and national supremacy are all too familiar.

Even in Germany, a country that has tried to reckon deeply with its Nazi past, the far-right Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) has gained a troubling foothold. Openly xenophobic, anti-immigrant, and nostalgic for a Germany of the past, the AfD has used economic discontent and fears about immigration to rally support. It’s a chilling reminder that even in a country where the horrors of Fascism are part of the national memory, authoritarian nationalism can still rear its ugly head.

What’s frightening is that these movements aren’t confined to a fringe—they’ve made their way into the political mainstream. Politicians, eager to capitalise on growing fear and economic insecurity, have adopted fascist rhetoric in their appeals to voters. Calls for militarisation, crackdowns on dissent, and the erosion of civil liberties in the name of “security” are all straight from the Fascist playbook. Once confined to the extreme right, these ideas are now openly discussed in parliaments and campaign trails across the world.

And then there’s the internet. In the digital age, the rise of fascism has found a new, terrifyingly effective battleground online. Far-right extremism has spread faster than ever, with online echo chambers amplifying nationalist, xenophobic, and violent rhetoric. Social media platforms have become recruitment tools for fascist movements, allowing them to exploit economic instability, racial anxieties, and social unrest to stoke division and hatred. Platforms like Twitter, Reddit, and even private messaging apps have enabled fascists to find each other, organise, and radicalise others.

This online breeding ground for extremism has already had real-world consequences. From mass shootings inspired by white supremacist ideologies to the open embrace of “Great Replacement” theories by far-right leaders, the internet has proven to be a powerful weapon in the fascist arsenal. It’s no longer just the strongman leaders we need to fear—it’s the countless anonymous voices online, radicalising a new generation and bringing fascist ideologies into the homes of millions.

What’s most terrifying is how normalised these authoritarian tendencies have become. In the rush to capitalise on fear and economic uncertainty, mainstream politicians are increasingly borrowing from the Fascist playbook, all while disguising it with more palatable language. They talk about “law and order,” “national pride,” “wanting our country back”, and “protecting our way of life,” but the echoes of Fascism are unmistakable.

The risks we face are clear: when authoritarianism becomes mainstream, democracy itself is at stake. Fascism may have rebranded, but its core remains unchanged—a belief in power, control, and division. If we don’t confront it head-on, we may find ourselves marching once again towards disaster.

What Fascism Is (and Isn’t): The Ever Present Myth of "Strong Leadership"

Let’s clear something up that drives me a bit mad: Fascism is not about “strong leadership”. It’s easy to confuse the two because fascists often elevate a single, domineering figure to rally around, but strong leadership in itself isn’t inherently fascist. The reality is far more sinister. Fascism isn’t just about a leader calling the shots—it’s about total, uncompromising control. Fascism doesn’t simply want to lead a nation; it wants to dictate every aspect of life, from your political beliefs to your personal relationships. It’s not enough to fall in line; you have to believe in the system. The leader becomes the embodiment of the state, the law, and the future, with no room for dissent.

Fascism’s goal isn’t just to create order—it’s to create an obedient, unquestioning society. The kind where opposition isn’t just silenced but erased. Forget about freedom of speech or assembly, because in a fascist regime, those are luxuries that threaten the very order they’ve built. Imagine a world where your thoughts, your movements, and your identity are all carefully curated by the state. That’s not strong leadership. That’s authoritarian control at its most brutal and intimate.

Then there’s the idea of the scapegoat. Fascism always needs an enemy—someone to blame for the ills of society. In Nazi Germany, it was Jews, Roma, disabled people, and political dissidents. In Italy, it was Communists and socialists. Fascism thrives on division—it’s not about bringing the nation together in a meaningful way but rather excluding and dehumanising anyone who doesn’t fit the rigid national mould. There’s always an “other” that must be purged to preserve the purity and unity of the state. So, no, Fascism isn’t simply about patriotism or national pride; it’s about forcing everyone to conform to an idealised and often twisted vision of what the nation should be—one that’s built on fear, exclusion, and violence.

In Fascism, the individual is always subservient to the state, and any notion of equality is tossed out the window in favour of national or racial supremacy. Far from being a movement that uplifts the working class, Fascism has historically used the working class as a pawn—riling them up with promises of economic security, only to subjugate them once power is consolidated. Fascism champions the elite, the ruling class, and the idea that only a select few are fit to rule over the many. It’s about power for the few at the expense of the many, with a boot forever pressing down on those who don’t comply.

So, no—Fascism isn’t about community or solidarity. It’s about exclusion, domination, and a strict hierarchy that punishes anyone who dares to step out of line. It’s not the promise of a better future for all; it’s the demand for unwavering obedience to a regime that demands total control over life, thought, and identity. The strength of Fascism lies not in its leadership but in its ability to crush dissent and control society from the top down.

Modern Fascism and the Myth of Protest: Riots, Crackdowns, and Convenient Scapegoats

In recent months, we’ve seen the word Fascism thrown around in ways that almost seem designed to drain it of all meaning. Particularly in the UK, there’s been a dangerous misuse of the term in relation to the crackdown on violent orchestrated far-right riots, which some are now bizarrely labelling as Fascism under Keir Starmer. Let’s be clear: this isn’t Fascism, and conflating it with actual fascist ideologies does a grave disservice to historical and present-day understanding of what the word truly means.

These right-wing riots weren’t your average protests—far from it. What we witnessed was mob violence incited by far-right groups targeting migrants and Muslims. Hotels housing asylum seekers were set on fire, masked men rampaged through towns, and yes, in the middle of this grotesque spectacle, Lush stores were looted—because apparently, nothing says “defending your country” quite like grabbing a bath bomb in the middle of a riot. These weren’t political demonstrations in any meaningful sense; they were acts of disorder and violence that put lives at risk.

When police cracked down on these violent mobs, the usual suspects—online reactionaries, conspiracy theorists, and those with a dangerous misunderstanding of both politics and history—started yelling that Starmer’s government was showing fascist tendencies. This, of course, is utter nonsense. The violent incitement against vulnerable communities wasn’t some brave stand against tyranny—it was targeted, racially motivated violence, plain and simple. And yet, somehow, the focus has shifted to whether stopping these riots was an authoritarian overreach.

Compare this to the rhetoric we saw under the previous government. Suella Braverman, who made headlines with her hard-line stance on immigration and crime, referred to peaceful pro-Palestinian marches as “hate marches” while overseeing the introduction of a policing bill that has made the very act of protest more illegal. The bill, passed under the Tories, gives police sweeping powers to clamp down on any form of public dissent that’s deemed too disruptive or too loud—basically, any protest that’s not convenient for those in power. That is where the creeping authoritarianism lies. It’s in the erosion of basic democratic rights, like the right to protest, especially when those protests don’t align with the government’s narrative. Peaceful dissent is being reframed as a public order issue, and that’s an incredibly dangerous road to go down.

When you look at these two situations side by side, it’s clear where the real fascistic tendencies are emerging. A violent far-right mob being stopped by the police is not fascism; it’s law enforcement doing its job. But when the government redefines peaceful protest as a threat, that’s when alarm bells should be ringing. It’s a tactic ripped straight from the fascist playbook: recast the dissenters as dangerous enemies of the state and use the guise of public safety to tighten control over personal freedoms.

The real danger is that these terms—Fascism, protest, freedom—are being thrown around carelessly, muddying the waters to the point where people can no longer distinguish between protecting democracy and undermining it. While the far right’s violent riots were not protests in any meaningful sense, peaceful marches and demonstrations should be defended as part of any healthy democracy. The rise of fascist language comes when a government begins to blur the line between legitimate political dissent and disorder, treating both as equally dangerous.

Why Fascism Still Matters: The Authoritarian Temptation

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: Fascism never truly disappeared. Like a particularly nasty infection, it went into hiding for a while, only to resurface when the world is at its most vulnerable. In the political climate of 2024, as economic inequalities grow wider and far-right rhetoric finds a home in places it once seemed unthinkable, we can no longer pretend that Fascism is just a relic of history. It’s back—and it’s creeping into mainstream politics all across Europe and the world.

Why is Fascism still relevant today? Because its authoritarian impulse never really went away. The movement that once marched in lockstep and waved flags emblazoned with swastikas has since learned how to blend in, hiding behind nationalist slogans, populist movements, and convenient scapegoats. This time, the aesthetic might be different—less jackboots, more polished suits—but the underlying message is the same: “We need control. We need order. And we’ll do it by any means necessary.”

Fascism thrives because it offers simple answers to complex problems. Feeling anxious about your future? Blame immigrants. Worried about the economy? Blame minorities, the global elite, or anyone who isn’t part of your ever narrowing definition of “us.” The seductive appeal of Fascism is that it gives people a target for their fear and frustration. It tells them who’s to blame and offers them a way out: conformity and control.

The fact is, when people feel powerless—whether due to economic insecurity, social upheaval, or a perceived cultural threat—they are more susceptible to the authoritarian temptation. The offer is almost irresistible: Sacrifice a bit of your personal freedom, and we’ll give you security in return. All it takes is a charismatic leader to stoke that fear, promising to restore national pride, bring back jobs, or “cleanse” society, and suddenly, the impossible becomes plausible.

And that’s where the danger lies. Fascism thrives on fear. It is a movement built on exploiting insecurity and offering simple, brutal solutions to the anxieties people feel in their everyday lives. And what’s worse, in times of fear, people are often willing to trade freedom for the illusion of security, placing their trust in the very systems that will strip away their rights under the guise of protection.

Take a look around Europe today, and the warning signs are hard to miss. Hungary has seen the rise of a government that openly challenges democratic norms, clamping down on media freedoms and weakening the judiciary in the name of “national security.” In Poland, the ruling party pushes an agenda that demonises immigrants, undermines LGBTQ+ rights, and seeks to curtail judicial independence. Meanwhile, in France, far-right figures like Marine Le Pen, while repackaging their rhetoric to appear more mainstream, still rely on a dangerous brand of hyper-nationalism and thinly veiled xenophobia.

Italy, too, is flirting with a dangerous resurgence of authoritarianism, as the far-right continues to gain ground. The new Prime Minister, Giorgia Meloni, is part of the Brothers of Italy, a party with neo-fascist roots. Her rise to power signals that the spectre of Fascism is not confined to the past—it’s still here, haunting the politics of a nation that once gave birth to the ideology.

And then there’s Germany, where the resurgence of neo-Nazi groups, though officially marginal, still sends a chilling message: the extreme right hasn’t gone away—it’s simply waiting for its moment to strike.

Let’s not forget the UK. The rise of populist, far-right movements that dress up xenophobia as “national sovereignty” is deeply concerning. After all, when groups incite violence against migrants, demonise minorities, or undermine peaceful protests, these aren’t political differences—they’re dangerous authoritarian tactics. It’s a pattern we’ve seen before: stoke fear, find a scapegoat, and slowly chip away at the foundations of democracy. And the terrifying thing is, many people either don’t see it or are too disillusioned to care.

The Loud, Angry Minority

Fascism thrives on the illusion of dominance. It’s a movement that shouts the loudest, demands absolute control, and threatens anyone who dares to question it. But here’s the truth fascists don’t want you to know: they are not the majority. They never have been. For all their bluster about strength, control, and "the will of the people," they are always the ones trying to manipulate fear, to create a sense of overwhelming inevitability.

The reality is, fascism feeds on the margins of society—on the fringes where insecurity, economic hardship, and cultural anxiety fester. It exploits these fears, magnifying them into a crisis, all while pretending to be the only solution. It relies on people feeling powerless, isolated, and angry, so that they’ll turn to the authoritarian promise of order in exchange for freedom.

But despite all the noise, the fascist playbook remains the same: lie, distort, and sow division. Convince people that democracy is weak, that diversity is dangerous, and that only a return to "strength" can save society. The truth is, fascists want us to believe that their movement is larger, stronger, and more influential than it actually is. They thrive on the perception of power—because the minute we see through the façade, their influence crumbles.

They are not the majority. They are not invincible. And their cries for authoritarian control are not the will of the people—they are the desperate, angry demands of a movement that knows, deep down, that it cannot survive in the light of freedom, democracy, and unity. Fascism wants to overwhelm us, to make us feel like resistance is futile. But that’s the greatest lie of all.

So, while the threat is real, so is the resistance. And the best way to fight fascism isn’t through fear, but by holding firm to the values it despises: freedom, equality, and the messy, wonderful chaos of democracy. As long as we stand together, we can outlast their shouts and their angry fists on the table. Because in the end, fascism is a movement born of fear—and fear never wins.

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