Show Notes
In 1922, 30,000 men in black shirts marched on Rome and demanded control of the Italian government. The King of Italy could have used the military to stop them. He did not. He handed power to their leader, Benito Mussolini, rather than risk a civil war. Within three years Italy was a one-party fascist state. Within two decades tens of millions of people were dead. Fascism didn’t die with Mussolini or with Hitler. It’s a system. It has a structure. It has tactics that repeat across every country and every century where it appears. And in 2018, former Yale philosophy professor named Jason Stanley published a book identifying exactly what those tactics are. Stanley was the Jacob Urowsky Professor of Philosophy at Yale University. He is the child of refugees who escaped World War II Europe. He has spent his career studying authoritarianism and propaganda. His book “How Fascism Works: The Politics of Us and Them” identifies ten tactics that every fascist movement in history has used to take power. Not some of them. All of them.
What Fascism Actually Is The word fascism gets used loosely. It gets thrown at anyone people disagree with. That carelessness is dangerous because fascism is not an insult. It is a system with a specific definition, a specific origin, and a specific set of mechanics. Fascism is a system where one man has total power over everything. The government. The military. The courts. The economy. And it is enforced by violence. You submit or you are punished. There is no middle ground. Fascism has no policies. It has no economic plan. No vision for how society should function. It is purely a mechanism for one man to seize absolute power and keep it. Everything else, the rallies, the slogans, the scapegoats, the culture wars, is just a tool to get there. Benito Mussolini invented it in Milan, Italy in 1919. The country had just come out of World War I on the winning side but got almost nothing from the peace deal. The economy was in ruins. People had no work. The national mood was humiliation and desperation. Mussolini exploited that desperation with three claims: your country used to be great, someone took that greatness from you, and democracy is too weak to get it back. His answer was to concentrate all power in a single leader, himself, who would punish the nation’s enemies and restore its strength. The trade was simple. Citizens give up their freedom, their right to question, their right to disagree. In return, the leader gives them someone to blame. That transaction sits at the center of every fascist movement in history. The leader needs an enemy because rage is the only glue holding the system together. Without someone to hate, the entire structure collapses. Fascism also leads with violence. Mussolini built a private militia called the Blackshirts. They attacked socialists, beat union organizers, and physically removed political opponents from local governments. Violence was not a byproduct of the movement. It was the operating system. In 1922, Mussolini marched 30,000 Blackshirts on Rome and demanded power. The King of Italy handed it to him rather than risk civil war. Hitler watched closely. He took Mussolini’s model and adapted it. Where Mussolini used brute force to seize power, Hitler used democracy itself. He ran in elections. He exploited free speech, free assembly, and every legal right available to citizens of a democratic republic. He used the system to get inside the system. Then he dismantled every one of those rights so no one could use them to challenge him. This is the mechanism that makes fascism uniquely dangerous among authoritarian systems. It weaponizes the openness of democracy against itself. It walks through the front door, smiles at everyone in the room, and then locks the door behind it.
The Ten Tactics Jason Stanley’s framework is not a theory. It is a pattern extracted from the historical record of every fascist movement that has taken root over the past century. He drew on Mussoli
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There’s a familiar ritual that happens every time an authoritarian movement begins to collapse. The supporters disappear. Not physically. Psychologically. They scrub the evidence, rewrite the timeline, and emerge on the other side with a story they’ve rehearsed just enough to almost believe. “I never really supported him.” “I just voted against the Democrats.” “I don’t talk about politics anymore.” This is happening right now across America. The yard signs are coming down. The hats are going into drawers. The Facebook posts are being deleted. And millions of people who spent a decade loudly and publicly cheering for cruelty are quietly trying to exit the building before someone turns the lights on. The companion video to this piece says what needs to be said plainly: they’re not confused. They’re lying. They know what they did. They know what they defended. And they’re trying to erase the evidence before accountability arrives. This Substack examines why that matters, why it won’t work this time, and what history tells us about populations that try to pretend they were never part of the thing they spent years supporting.
Most political analysis starts with policy. Voters chose this candidate because of the economy, immigration, healthcare, taxes. And for most voters in most elections, that’s probably true. But Donald Trump is not most candidates. And the question that keeps surfacing isn’t why people agree with him. It’s why they love him more every time he does something cruel. The mockery. The insults. The attacks on disabled reporters, Gold Star families, and women. Behavior that would end any other political career has somehow become the foundation of his. In 2021, psychologist Matthew Yalch at Palo Alto University published a study in PLOS ONE titled “Dimensions of pathological narcissism and intention to vote for Donald Trump.” And what he found should make everyone uncomfortable, including the people it describes.
In February 2025, researchers at the University of Amsterdam published a study in Social Science & Medicine that should have rewritten every conversation about why people join the far right. They tracked over 40,000 people across nine countries, with data spanning fifteen years. They controlled for income, education, immigration attitudes, and political ideology. They wanted to know what actually predicts whether someone will support the populist radical right. The answer wasn’t immigration. It wasn’t economics. It wasn’t religion. It was loneliness. Lonelier individuals were consistently more likely to support radical right movements, with the association holding across all fifteen years of Dutch data and appearing across multiple European countries. The researchers noted that the effect sizes were comparable to the known health correlates of loneliness, meaning that the connection between loneliness and far-right support was statistically as meaningful as the connection between loneliness and heart disease, high blood pressure, and depression. A 2021 RAND Corporation study of former extremists and their families confirmed this from the other direction. Half of the former extremists surveyed said feelings of marginalization drove them toward radicalization, with most citing isolation and loneliness specifically. Individuals reported that the social benefits of joining extremist organizations, the friendship, the camaraderie, the sense of finally belonging somewhere, were among the most powerful forces keeping them in. These people didn’t join a movement because they were convinced by policy arguments. They joined because someone finally made them feel like they weren’t alone. And that tells us more about what MAGA actually is than any analysis of tariffs or border policy ever could.
A woman stood up at a political rally and asked a sitting congressman to create a federal law that would force her adult daughter to let her see her grandchildren. Not a therapy session. Not a family mediator. Not a phone call to her daughter asking what went wrong. A federal law. That single moment contains more psychology than most textbooks. Because what she revealed, in front of cameras and a cheering crowd, wasn’t a grandmother’s heartbreak. It was a narcissist’s playbook when someone finally tells them no. How a boundary becomes a theft. In 2002, psychologist Roy Baumeister at Case Western Reserve University published a theory that combined two existing psychological frameworks into something new. The first was narcissism, the personality structure built around an inflated self-image that requires constant validation. The second was psychological reactance, a concept developed by Jack Brehm at the University of Kansas in 1966, which describes the motivational state people enter when they perceive their freedom as restricted. Brehm found that when people believe a choice or behavior has been taken from them, they experience an intense drive to restore it, often wanting the restricted option more than they did before it was restricted. Baumeister’s insight was that narcissism supercharges reactance. When an ordinary person encounters a boundary, they may be disappointed, but they can process it. When a narcissist encounters a boundary, they don’t experience disappointment. They experience theft. The boundary isn’t perceived as another person’s valid choice. It’s perceived as something that belongs to them being taken away. And they feel entitled to take it back by whatever means necessary. Baumeister called it narcissistic reactance. This grandmother didn’t process her daughter’s boundary as a painful but legitimate decision by an autonomous adult. She processed it as her property being stolen. Those grandchildren aren’t people her daughter is protecting. In her mind, they are hers. Access to them is her right. And no one, not even their own mother, gets to take what’s hers.
There is a specific kind of frustration that comes from watching something fall apart in exactly the way someone told you it would. Not vaguely. Not in broad metaphorical strokes. In order. Step by step. With the stages so clearly defined that anyone paying attention can call the next one before it happens. Plato had that frustration 2,400 years ago. He lived through it. He watched the Athenian democracy, the most advanced political experiment in the ancient world, turn on itself. He watched it execute Socrates, his teacher, arguably the sharpest mind in the city, for the crime of asking uncomfortable questions. And instead of moving on, Plato spent the rest of his life trying to explain how a society capable of producing genius could also be stupid enough to kill it. The result was The Republic. And while most of the book covers justice, education, and the nature of reality, Book Eight is something different entirely. Book Eight is a manual. It is Plato at his most concrete, walking through the specific sequence of events that takes a functioning democracy and turns it into a dictatorship. Not in abstract terms. In stages. With causes, mechanisms, and outcomes laid out in an order that has repeated across civilizations for two millennia.