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By declaring all opposition to themselves anti-fascism, MAGA isn’t leaving much mystery about their leanings.
For the last few weeks, Republican Party leadership has been carrying out a campaign to, essentially, classify the word “fascist” as hate speech against right-wingers. But while some Republicans shy away from the term, plenty of others, particularly among their base and their influencers, find it edgy and hip. Some have even begun to wear it as a badge of honor.
Most notably, last week, members of the Republican Youth—er, Young Republicans—were caught in a group chat declaring their love of Adolf Hitler and expressing fondness for his policy of mass extermination in gas chambers.
The incident caused some drama and led to some repercussions, but not as much as you might hope. Vice President JD Vance dismissed the story, saying, “Kids do stupid things, especially young boys… They tell edgy, offensive jokes. And I really don’t want us to grow up in a country where a kid telling a… very offensive, stupid joke is cause to ruin their lives.” By and large, that seems to be the tack most Republicans are taking, certainly from the top down.
Vance’s attempt to downplay the chats as just kids being edgy may work for some, but the truth is that many members of the chat were grown men well into their 30s, nearly Vance’s age, who occupied positions of political influence. Maybe they were joking, but it’s not clear where the irony or the punchlines were—and it’s a poor choice of comedic material if the party wants to shake the fascist label.
Ever since President Donald Trump’s takeover of the GOP, Republicans have struggled with this fascist comparison. Actually, the left has used the term to describe far-right policies since long before Trump, but Trump’s Mussolini-like mannerisms, dictatorial ambitions, and cult of personality have made the term feel like a natural fit and brought it into more common use, especially in his second term.
After the assassination of Charlie Kirk in September, Republicans like Trump and Speaker of the House Mike Johnson (R-La.) blamed the casual use of the word for inspiring Kirk’s murder and other acts of violence. Johnson said: “Calling people Nazis and fascists is not helpful… There are some deranged people in society, and when they see leaders using that kind of language… it spurs them on to action. We have to recognize that reality and address it appropriately.”
Simple compassion might, in fact, be regarded as an unlawful, anti-fascist, terrorist thoughtcrime.
It was also around this time that they began to escalate their campaign against “antifa,” characterizing it as a political organization and threatening to go after its organizers and funders. In truth, though, there is no formal group called antifa. Antifa is short for anti-fascism, and it exists only as an opposition to fascism. So Trump’s position of anti-anti-fascism, if you reduce the double negative, is simply fascism.
Maybe the most dramatic step so far in this anti-antifa campaign was Trump’s issuance of NSPM-7, a presidential memo that accuses people of using the word “fascist” as an excuse to “justify and encourage acts of violent revolution,” and further identifies “anti-Americanism, anti-capitalism, and anti-Christianity; support for the overthrow of the United States Government; extremism on migration, race, and gender; and hostility towards those who hold traditional American views on family, religion, and morality” as indicia of potential terroristic inclinations and activities.
One can only guess how the administration is defining these terms, but if their actions to date are anything to go by, simple compassion might, in fact, be regarded as an unlawful, anti-fascist, terrorist thoughtcrime, and anyone who holds such views can be subject to, at a minimum, investigation, surveillance, and harassment by law enforcement—all of which sounds like anti-anti-fascism, to be sure.
At this point, it’s important to examine just what, exactly, fascism is. The term has certainly been abused in America. For many, “fascist” has just become shorthand for “someone I don’t like,” or, more specifically, “someone who’s making me do something I don’t want to do.” To wit: Speed limits are fascism. No-smoking signs are fascism. Mask mandates during a pandemic are fascism. Taxes are fascism. And so on.
Alas, few historians would describe such basic laws or civic norms as fascism. While the word doesn’t have any one universally agreed upon definition, and even self-identified fascist societies differ in significant ways, there are a few hallmarks that distinguish fascism from other philosophies. The more of these qualities a government or a society has, the more fascistic it is:
Any honest observer can see how much of the definition fits. Not all of it is unique to Trump, but he does tick more boxes than the average politician. Soon enough, though, simply pointing that out might land you in a heap of trouble. Unless, of course, Republicans shift gears and decide to embrace the term, as at least some of them are beginning to do.
Back in July, before Trump ratcheted up his campaign against antifa, Fox News comedian Greg Gutfeld went on a revealing rant about his feelings on the word Nazi and how it relates to him. Gutfeld said on his show: “The criticism doesn’t matter to us when you call us Nazis. Nazi this and Nazi that… We need to learn from the Blacks. The way they were able to remove the power from the n-word by using it. So from now on it’s, ‘What up, my Nazi?’”
Gutfeld’s show is intended as a comedy, though you might not recognize it as one. Still, it’s a peculiar joke to make, and frightening to consider who it might resonate with. And this attitude on the right is being more openly embraced: that fascism is hip or edgy and that all the progress made on freedoms and rights for gays, trans people, minorities, and women needs to be rolled back. For instance:
Republican influencers and the MAGA base are racing to the bottom, fast. It’s known as vice signaling: Each one trying to outdo the next in depravity to prove they are as un-woke and un-PC as possible, even if it reverts them back to plain-old KKK and neo-Nazi hatred and barbarism. It’s hard to say what abuse, constitutional violation, or act of violence they won’t enthusiastically push for, as long as it’s coming from the right side and being inflicted on an enemy. These aren’t ideas we have to debate. This is fascism, and civilized society already won the argument against it in World War II.
Sadly, fascism is probably appealing to a lot of Americans, even if most are still hesitant to embrace the term. It’s in our national DNA. Our Jim Crow laws and citizenship standards even provided a model for Hitler’s antisemitic campaigns. There have always been bigoted, violent people in this country, and they appreciate a ruler who reflects them. And just as they were in the 1930s, the giant industrialists who shape our politics and society are all too happy to ally themselves with fascist forces, because they know a repressive state can protect their own power from being challenged.
But there are also strains of anti-fascism in our DNA. My grandpa, a veteran of World War II, was antifa, as were many members of the Greatest Generation. And it’s heartening to see older folks and veterans declare themselves antifa, even in the face of Trump’s threats. It should be a source of pride that we’ve overcome many of our bigotries and xenophobias. Despite all the loud fascist voices in right-wing media and social platforms, I still believe the vast majority of people believe in basic human rights for all. The No Kings protests on October 18 were a good showing of this solidarity.
As this administration goes further off the deep end—deploying the military against American citizens; sending masked Immigration and Custom Enforcement agents to terrorize poor and immigrant communities; profiling, detaining, and abusing people, including American citizens, on mere suspicion of being “illegal;” and disappearing people with no trial to God-knows-where—it’s no accident that they have declared anti-fascism their greatest enemy.
Maybe those 38-year-old kids in the Young Republicans chat were just joking about gas chambers and loving Hitler. But given everything else this administration is doing and everything their propagandists are saying, it falls a bit too close for comfort to, “It’s funny because it’s true.”
Critics called the department's announcement "deeply weird and awful," "so Orwellian," and "real textbook fascism beginning to end."
Less than a week after most journalists covering the US Department of Defense turned in their press credentials and carried out their belongings in boxes over Secretary Pete Hegseth's new restrictions on reporters, his chief spokesperson announced "the next generation of the Pentagon press corps," which critics quickly condemned as a collection of right-wing propagandists.
Even many right-wing outlets—including the Daily Caller, Newsmax, Washington Examiner, Washington Times, and Fox News, where Hegseth was previously a host—have refused to sign on to the new rules at what President Donald Trump has dubbed the Department of War (DOW). The policy limits where reporters can go without an official escort and, most controversially, restricts them from soliciting or reporting on information not approved by the government, even if it is unclassified.
"We are excited to announce over 60 journalists, representing a broad spectrum of new media outlets and independent journalists, have signed the Pentagon's media access policy and will be joining the new Pentagon press corps," Sean Parnell, the Pentagon spokesperson, said Wednesday on the social media platform X. "Twenty-six journalists across 18 outlets were among the former Pentagon press corps who chose to sign the DOW media access policy."
"New media outlets and independent journalists have created the formula to circumvent the lies of the mainstream media and get real news directly to the American people," he wrote. "Their reach and impact collectively are far more effective and balanced than the self-righteous media who chose to self-deport from the Pentagon. Americans have largely abandoned digesting their news through the lens of activists who masquerade as journalists in the mainstream media. We look forward to beginning a fresh relationship with members of the new Pentagon press corps."
According to the Washington Post, which obtained a draft announcement:
The coalition of signatories includes streaming service Lindell TV (started by MyPillow CEO and Trump ally Mike Lindell), the websites the Gateway Pundit, the Post Millennial, Human Events, and the National Pulse. It also includes Turning Point USA's media brand Frontlines, as well as influencer Tim Pool's Timcast, and a Substack-based newsletter called Washington Reporter. The memo said that "many independent journalists" also signed, but did not specify who they were.
Timcast, the National Pulse, and the Washington Reporter all confirmed to the Post that they had signed the policy. The Post Millennial, Human Events, TPUSA Frontlines, Lindell TV, and the Gateway Pundit all confirmed on X, as did Just the News.
A wide range of critics, including many journalists, sharply condemned the "Pentagon Propaganda Corps" as "a predictable clown car of loyalists," and "a who's who of pro-Trump propagandists." They called Parnell's announcement "deeply weird and awful," "so Orwellian," and "real textbook fascism beginning to end."
The public must be made to recognize that any "journalist" still holding a Pentagon press credential is actually just a stenographer for propagandists, and anything they report should be met with deep skepticism if not outright rejection.
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— Josh Richman (@joshrichman.bsky.social) October 22, 2025 at 2:32 PM
"This reads like they're announcing the handpicked contestants of a new reality series," said journalist and television news producer John Flowers.
Africa Report's Julian Pecquet quipped, "That's a lot of stenographers."
Matthew Gertz, a senior fellow at Media Matters for America, said, "Press corps as adjuncts of the administration."
Breaking Defense reporter Valerie Insinna wrote that it is "important to note that all of the defense trade publications refused to sign the Pentagon's media access policy, and we write about budget and military technology—not exactly what you think of when you envision 'activists who masquerade as journalists.'"
Other journalists now covering the Pentagon from afar used Parnell's X post to share their contact information.
"If anyone is interested in speaking to a member of the current generation of the press corps… the one that is still aggressively covering the Pentagon," wrote Konstantin Toropin of the Associated Press, "you can find me on Signal at ktoropin.73."
Reuters' Idrees Ali similarly said, "If you want to talk to the 'old' generation of the press corps, which continues to cover the Pentagon accurately and aggressively, you can reach out to me on Signal at idreesali1141.43."
Heather Mongilio of USNI News, the US Naval Institute's independent news service, stressed that "defense journalists that turned in their badges continue to cover the Pentagon and military, even if they do not have desks."
"See news of the eighth strike on a suspected drug boat as an example," she continued, referring to Trump's latest illegal bombing in international waters—the first in the Pacific. "As always, I can be reached at HMongilio.52 on Signal."
What do we do when 7 million people can see clearly and it changes nothing? When recognition is no longer power but only knowledge of the condition we are trapped inside?
In March 2023, anticipating his indictment, Donald Trump stood before a Conservative Political Action Conference audience and delivered what seemed like two speeches at once. "I am your warrior, I am your justice," he declared. "And for those who have been wronged and betrayed, I am your retribution." The crowd roared. But in the same breath, he pivoted to grievance: The radical Left was "indicting me in a disgusting witch hunt." Within minutes, he had performed both triumph and victimhood, the strongman and the martyr. His supporters saw no contradiction. His poll numbers surged.
By October 2025, over 7 million Americans took to the streets in the largest protests in the nation's history. The "No Kings" demonstrations erupted in every major city and hundreds of smaller towns, a collective outcry against government overreach and authoritarian drift. Millions saw the danger clearly enough to leave their homes and march. They named it. They refused it. They made it visible.
Trump's response deployed the same contradictory logic. House Speaker Mike Johnson (R-La.) called it a "hate America rally" funded by George Soros and the Communist Party. Fox News warned of "Antifa terrorists descending on American cities." Yet when protests remained peaceful, those same outlets pivoted within hours. The demonstrators were "pathetically small," just "crybabies." A White House spokesperson's official response: "Who cares? Cry more, libs." The protesters were both too weak to matter and too dangerous to ignore, often in the same sentence.
What happened next revealed something darker than hypocrisy. Seven million people saw clearly, organized, and marched. And they discovered that seeing changes nothing when power no longer requires coherence. The contradiction is not a flaw. It is the performance itself.
We are not living in a failure of awareness. We are living in the space after awareness, in the gap between recognition and power, and that gap is where the system has learned to thrive.
How he got there reveals the pattern. Two years before those protests, Trump had been trailing badly. Two-thirds of voters said he should not run again. Primary challengers drew real support. His legal troubles should have finished him. But the contradiction that should have destroyed him became the engine that restored him. The party was remade not despite the oscillation between victim and victor, but because of it.
Hannah Arendt saw this coming decades ago. Writing in 1951 after fleeing Nazi Germany, she observed that "the masses had reached the point where they would, at the same time, believe everything and nothing, think that everything was possible and that nothing was true." Totalitarian propaganda discovered that its audience no longer demanded consistency. When confronted with proof of falsehood, people would not abandon their leaders. They would take refuge in cynicism and admire the leaders for their "superior tactical cleverness."
Trump embodies this contradiction instinctively, moving between narcissistic wound (he is persecuted, silenced) and narcissistic grandiosity (he is unstoppable, the sole force capable of restoration). But figures like Stephen Miller have systematized what Trump performs on instinct. Miller's invocation of the 1798 Alien Enemies Act shows how emotional oscillation becomes policy. The law, designed for wartime, was reframed as defensive necessity: a persecuted administration forced to use emergency powers because "radical judges" tied their hands. Victimhood becomes justification. Dominance becomes outcome.
The mechanism works because it offers psychological completion. Most political movements offer either victimhood or triumph. Grievance movements mobilize through persecution but risk feeling powerless. Triumphalist movements mobilize through strength but alienate those who feel left behind. This offers both simultaneously. Followers never have to choose between feeling wronged and feeling victorious. They get the emotional satisfaction of grievance and dominance at once. Umberto Eco observed that in fascist ideology, "The enemies are at the same time too strong and too weak." The contradiction structures belief itself.
In September 2025, that belief became policy, enacted on bodies in the middle of the night.
Residents of a Chicago apartment building were woken by helicopters overhead. Hundreds of armed federal agents swarmed the building, some rappelling from Black Hawks. They kicked down doors, deployed flash-bang grenades, overturned mattresses. By dawn, dozens of Venezuelan nationals had been detained. But American citizens were swept up too. Residents were forced from apartments at gunpoint, zip-tied, marched outside in whatever clothes they had been sleeping in. Families were separated. One witness described an agent forcibly removing an infant from its mother's arms.
Chicago's mayor protested: "This was a show of authoritarianism, a forceful display of tyranny." But the images had done their work. They circulated on Fox as proof of law and order restored. Yet even as children were separated from parents and citizens detained without cause, Trump's social media performed pure victimhood. He posted about persecution by Democratic mayors and radical judges. The contradiction traveled through separate channels, reaching separate audiences, never forced into the same frame. Fox broadcast strength. MSNBC covered constitutional violations. Truth Social performed grievance while Homeland Security performed dominance. Both worked.
The same logic framed the No Kings protests. Before they began, Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy declared the peaceful demonstrations would be "part of Antifa." When millions showed up and remained peaceful, the narrative pivoted instantly. Newsmax dubbed it, "No Kings, Just Crybabies." But the framing went beyond weakness. It extended into psychiatric territory. Commentators called protesters "deranged," "unwell," "delusional." The language recycled an old tactic: Discredit protest by diagnosing the protester. In the 1960s, diagnoses of schizophrenia spiked among Black civil rights activists. The DSM was revised to include "hostility" and "aggression" as symptoms. Men demanding rights were labeled schizophrenic. In 2025, Minnesota legislators introduced a bill classifying "Trump Derangement Syndrome" as a formal psychiatric condition. It did not pass. It did not need to.
The paradox persists because it never occupies a single frame. Media fragmentation ensures different audiences encounter different versions of reality. Fox broadcasts the strongman: Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids, military flights, executive orders. Mainstream outlets emphasize grievance: persecution narratives, legal battles, claims of being silenced. Algorithmic systems ensure most people encounter only one version. The contradiction never gets forced into the same space where it would have to be reconciled.
Social media algorithms reward emotional extremes. A message declaring, "We are wronged" enrages opponents, who boost its visibility by arguing. The same message proclaiming, "We will prevail" energizes supporters who share it widely. A single post can simultaneously trend on Truth Social as evidence of persecution and on Twitter as evidence of dominance, the two narratives never intersecting. The administration posts images of people in chains, then hours later claims of censorship. Both spread efficiently. Both accomplish their purpose.
This creates exhaustion that functions as a weapon. Every news alert feels like whiplash. He is persecuted. No, he is ordering deportations. He is under attack. No, he is deploying troops. Courts rig the system against him. No, he appoints the judges. The exhaustion hardens into cynicism: "Both sides lie." "It's all performance." "I'm checking out." When the exhausted middle withdraws, they stop bearing witness. When people stop expecting coherence, accountability disappears.
Arendt wrote that totalitarian movements thrive when people believe nothing. Followers "do not particularly object to being deceived because they hold every statement to be a lie anyhow." The lie is not a problem. Its exposure creates no crisis. What matters is emotional alignment, belonging, shared enemies. The leader who can be both victim and victor is winning on multiple levels simultaneously.
When power no longer requires coherence, accountability becomes impossible. How do you hold someone responsible for contradictions when supporters admire them as tactical brilliance? The administration passed a reconciliation bill allocating $170 billion for immigration enforcement through standard procedure. Democratic forms persist. Democratic substance drains away. This is not a coup. It is a hollowing.
Dissent faces a trap with no exit. When protesters wept at family separations, they were mocked as "liberal tears." When activists cited asylum law and statistics, they were dismissed as coastal elites. When silent, they were accused of complicity. When marching, they were cast as mobs. Every response is pre-discredited. Emotion is hysteria. Reason is elitism. Silence is complicity. Action is extremism.
The asymmetry reveals where power lives. When the Tea Party filled town halls with rage in 2009, their anger was received as patriotic conviction. When college students mourned the 2016 election, "liberal tears" became memes within days. Conservative anger is always righteous. Liberal grief is always weakness. Power decides whose feelings count and whose pain gets laughed off stage.
Seven million Americans marched in October 2025 believing that visibility would matter, that naming the threat clearly would create accountability. They understood exactly what was happening. The problem was that understanding provides no protection when power has learned to function without requiring coherence.
The No Kings protests represented the largest collective act of recognition in American history. Millions simultaneously saw the danger, named it accurately, organized around shared perception, and took to the streets. And they discovered that recognition without power is the new condition. The system continues not because it has convinced them, but because it operates in the space between recognition and action, in the gap between seeing and being able to stop what you see. The administration does not need to hide. It does not need to persuade people that contradictions make sense. It only needs to ensure that recognition alone cannot interrupt the machinery.
This is what the protests proved. Not that Americans are unaware or complicit. Millions are paying attention. They see what is happening. They name it correctly. They refuse it loudly. Yet the system continues. We are not living in a failure of awareness. We are living in the space after awareness, in the gap between recognition and power, and that gap is where the system has learned to thrive.
The strongman's paradox is not really a paradox. It is the logic of authoritarian power when truth has become optional, when coherence is no longer required, when contradiction works better than consistency ever did. To see with clarity that coherence no longer governs, that the contradiction is the point, that demanding truth from power is the wrong question—this is not despair. It is the beginning of sight.
Then we face the harder question. What do we do when 7 million people can see clearly and it changes nothing? When recognition is no longer power but only knowledge of the condition we are trapped inside? The protests made one thing certain: We are living in the gap between recognition and power. The question is not whether we see. The question is what we build in the space where seeing is not enough.