“Fascism can come back under the most innocent of disguises.
Our duty is to uncover it and point our finger at any of its new forms—every day, in every part of the world.”
— Umberto Eco, “Ur-Fascism”
Lately, I’ve read a number of comments in the vein of: “I can’t be a Nazi! I can’t be Fascist — I’m Jewish!,” or some variation of that same defense.
Sometimes it’s said sincerely, sometimes as a shield. Either way, it misses the point.
Let’s get something clear:
Nazism was a political movement, a particular subset of Fascism — a specific party, with uniforms, symbols, and membership rolls.
Fascism is a mindset.
A system of control.
A pattern that repeats itself whenever power, fear, and obedience align in the right proportions.
You can reject Hitler and still practice fascism in your politics, your management style, or your community norms.
Fascism isn’t about race or religion; it’s about hierarchy.
It’s the belief that some people deserve power and others deserve submission. That violence is a legitimate way to enforce that order. That loyalty matters more than truth, and purity matters more than humanity.
A Little History that Gets Forgotten
Fascism didn’t start with Hitler.
It began with Mussolini — a failed socialist journalist who built a movement on the idea that liberal democracy was weak and collective will was strength. His regime glorified unity, discipline, and violence as cleansing forces.
Hitler learned from Mussolini, then added a racial component — turning fascism’s authoritarian nationalism into genocidal ideology. The Nazi Party was fascism’s most extreme form, but it wasn’t its only one.
Spain, Portugal, Japan, and others adopted their own versions. Each dressed it differently: Catholic traditionalism, emperor worship, corporate technocracy. The uniforms changed. The logic did not.
After World War II, fascism didn’t die — it rebranded. It learned to smile for the cameras, to quote scripture and cite the Constitution. It traded jackboots for suits and slogans. The ideology adapted to democracy by using its tools: propaganda, grievance politics, cults of personality, and the weaponization of fear.
The Virus That Mutates to Survive
That’s why you can absolutely be Jewish, Black, queer, disabled, or anything else — and still act in service of fascism.
When you cheer for authoritarian power because it protects your group for now.
When you justify cruelty because it’s “your side” doing it.
When you trade empathy for certainty and call it moral clarity.
That’s the mindset. That’s the rot.
The Nazis were one party in one time and place.
Fascism is a virus that mutates to survive.
And like any virus, it spreads fastest when people convince themselves they’re immune.
So What Do We Do About It?
Start small, and start local.
Look for fascist logic in the systems you’re part of — the workplaces, the schools, the online communities.
Notice when obedience gets rewarded more than honesty.
When dissent is punished more than cruelty.
When fear becomes a management tool.
When the story becomes more important than the truth.
Fascism thrives on our silence, on our excuses, on our unwillingness to see it in ourselves.
The antidote isn’t purity — it’s self-awareness, accountability, and solidarity.
The work begins not with condemning others, but by asking, “What systems am I helping maintain, and who do they harm?”
Because the moment you believe you’re incapable of becoming part of the problem —
that’s when fascism has already won.
