New thinking about generational change about race

The United States has a long history of racism against African-Americans, at multiple levels. At the level of individuals, we have a history of negative attitudes, stereotypes, fears, and antagonisms that are built into the social consciousness of white men and women about African-Americans. Racist attitudes about “genetic inferiority”, crime, and other negative stereotypes have persisted since the slave period. At the level of behavior, institutions and individuals in “majority society” discriminate against African-American men, women, and children. The code of inter-racial behavior embodied in the Jim Crow epoch has continuing relevance to contemporary society, and discrimination in employment and other socially important opportunities persists. And then there is “structural racism” or “institutional racism” — the persistence of patterns of disparity and disadvantage for African-American individuals and families that seem to result from the workings of the institutions themselves. Residential segregation and its consequences provide a clear illustration of structural racism, and the persistence of health and longevity disparities by race illustrates the deadly seriousness of these patterns of unequal treatment. (Here is an earlier post on racial disparities.)

Observers have recognized for decades that American society needs to change in order to eliminate these facts of racism and substantive disparity of outcomes. But what kinds of change are called for? There is a comforting theory of change that seems to have some empirical basis. It is the idea that each cohort of Americans has become less racist and more tolerant of diversity than its predecessor cohort. On this account, the “silent generation” (1928-1945) had more explicitly racist attitudes than the baby boomers (1946-1964), Gen X (1965-1980), and Gen Z (1996-?). Each successive cohort was more accepting of racial diversity than its predecessor. This narrative suggests that racism and its legacy will die out as the more tolerant generations replace their less tolerant predecessors. GlobeScan, a global public opinion research organization, published the results of a brief survey on this topic in 2023 (link):

This report offers an empirical snapshot of the change across generations that is evident in some public opinion surveys: that concern about racial discrimination has steadily increased across recent generations of people. This is a comforting storyline for anyone who cares about an inclusive multicultural democracy. But Christopher DeSante and Candis Watts Smith argue in Racial Stasis: The Millennial Generation and the Stagnation of Racial Attitudes in American Politics (2020) that the storyline is fundamentally incorrect.

DeSante and Smith do not dispute that the generations since the 1940s have indeed experienced a shift in racial attitudes away from overt and explicit “biological racism”. Generations since the baby boom of the 1950s have internalized more “race-neutral” ways of describing current realities. And they have expressed rising discomfort with the fact of continuing racial discrimination. But these generations — GenX, Millennials, and GenZ in particular — appear not to have moved forward to the logical conclusion — the need for supporting the policy changes that would be effective in addressing the continuing realities of racial discrimination. This is the “stagnation and stasis” to which DeSante and Smith refer in the title of the book: progress on ending racism appears to have stalled.

The heart of their argument involves the question of how to measure “racist attitudes” among individuals. For several decades the primary tool of social-psychological measurement of racial attitudes has been based on the concept of “racial resentment” or symbolic racism. Survey questions were designed to elicit the subject’s level of resentment, fear, or antagonism towards members of another race. DeSante and Smith argue that this approach is no longer satisfactory as a measurement tool. They maintain that racism is inherently multidimensional, involving emotions and cognitive assumptions and frameworks, and a satisfactory measure needs to permit observation of several of these dimensions in the subjects of a survey. Instead they offer a four-dimensional framework that they call FIRE (Fear, Institutionalist Racism, and Empathy), and they use a set of survey questions that allow measurement of each dimension. These questions are designed to capture the emotional and cognitive components of “attitudes about race” among individuals in a racially mixed society.

Their measurement tool elaborates on these four questions:

-- I am fearful of people of other races.
-- White people in the US have certain advantages because of the color of their skin.
-- Racial problems in the US are rare, isolated situations.
-- I am angry that racism exists. (DeSantes and Smith 2020: 227)

The questions are borrowed from several other survey instruments and are validated using statistical tools of consistency and predictive value. Here are the results of using these questions on the 2016 Cooperative Congressional Election Study (White respondents only).

The results are striking. Millennials are no less “racist” on average than the population of older whites on each of these measures. Here are the mean values for each question:

• -- “Fearful of other races” 3.83 vs. 3.87
• -- “Recognize whites have advantages” 2.98 vs. 2.48
• -- “Racial problems are rare” 3.64 vs. 3.68
• -- “Angry racism exists” 1.78 vs. 1.59

On average, Millennials demonstrate the same level of racist attitudes as older whites. The pattern is somewhat different when we compare “strongly agree” and “somewhat agree” responses to the four questions.

• -- “Fearful of other races” 14.36 vs. 14.35
• --  “Recognize whites have advantages” 43.06 vs. 59.01
• -- “Racial problems are rare” 21.28 vs. 19.59
• -- “Angry racism exists” 76.84 vs. 85.37

There are two significant differences in these “agree” responses. Millennials are more likely to agree that “whites have advantages” and agree more frequently that they are “angry racism exists”. Millennials are more likely to disagree or strongly disagree that they are “fearful of other races”. But overall, DeSantes and Smith argue that these differences are small, indicating that little change has occurred between the generations born before 1981 and the Millennials. Millennials have abandoned “old-fashioned racism” but have not advanced much further. Here is their summary statement:

Generally speaking, our results in this chapter also highlight the issue of racial stasis, as signs of the countervailing forces remain visible. For instance, White millennials do present more progressive attitudes. Compared to their predecessors, they are more likely to express anger about racism and more likely to acknowledge their privilege. But we also found that nearly one in five White millennials (20 percent) simultaneously feels angry that racism exists and does not believe Whites have advantages because of the color of their skin…. Ultimately we have a large number of walking contradictions in American society that are helping to produce and perpetuate ongoing racial inequities through their political stances and policy preferences. (244)

So if DeSantes and Smith are correct, then the hope that America’s conflicts over race and racism will disappear as a result of generational replacement is not likely to materialize. Instead, positive and purposeful steps will be needed in the realm of public and semi-public policy in order to address the effects of discrimination and prejudice. And since the burdens of discrimination are cumulative, it is not enough to ensure that opportunities are available on the basis of merit and achievement to solve the problem. If residential segregation makes it less likely that black children will receive equal educational opportunities, then all of their opportunities in later life will be stunted as well. If elementary schools or high schools are racially oriented so that black children on average receive lower quality educations, then “equal opportunity” at the university level is insufficient.

DeSante and Smith do not have much to say about what a “non-racist” mentality and culture would look like, but we can extend their thinking by emphasizing the importance of “education for an inclusive multicultural democracy”. This is a view of “civic education” for all of us based on respect across our various lines of division. A major part of such an education is a clear and honest knowledge of some of the sources of racist oppression and violence that have burdened our society in the past. Another is a deliberate and creative effort by educators, leaders, and students themselves to find our way to some of the ideals articulated by MLK and the beloved community. Without some idea of how young people can be genuinely transformed in their underlying attitudes about race, it is hard to see how the “stagnation of racial attitudes” called out by DeSante and Smith can be disrupted and reimagined. (Here is a more extensive discussion of what is needed for an inclusive multicultural democracy to become a reality; link.)

Maintaining social resilience

What is needed for a community of diverse people and groups to maintain its resilience in the face of hateful language, incidents, and provocations?

This question is particularly important for universities, which commonly seek to create a climate of welcome and respect for the various groups of students who make them up, and which are sometimes subjected to anonymous hateful attacks through graffiti, email, posters, social media, or other means. University communities have periodically been thrown into tense situations of fear, mistrust, and anxiety by hateful attacks — even when no physical threats of violence have emerged (NYT).

Hateful and racist propaganda campaigns like these are deeply destructive to the cohesiveness of a community for several reasons. They undermine trust across groups — “do those other people think this way about me?”. They harden the separations that sometimes begin to emerge across groups. They may lead to a cycle of “tit for tat” hostilities, which have the inherent possibility of escalation. And possibly they reinforce and amplify the latent hateful assumptions of some people to a more virulent and expressive form.

So how can a diverse and multicultural community best prepare itself for attacks like these? How can students, faculty, and staff “take on hate” in a university community?

One avenue is to devote the effort necessary throughout the community to establish strong forms of affiliation and trust across groups, so that members of different groups have a substantial basis for sustaining confidence in the motivations and allegiances of members of other groups. This means creating avenues of interaction and communication across groups in routine times, not just the occasions of crisis when threats to cohesion arise.

Another is for leaders to be explicit and passionate about the values of inclusion that hold the community together.

Third, an important source of social resiliency results from affirmative organizations that advocate for the values of mutual respect and inclusion and that have established strong networks of relationships throughout the community, both within and across groups. Student organizations can play the lead in creating and supporting such groups.

Another important source of resiliency is realistic communication about the continuing possibility of individual anonymous expressions of hate and intolerance. It is a fact that hateful expressions are possible in every social setting, and in fact we seem to be in a period where such expressions are becoming more common. So a community that is mentally prepared for such assaults is probably better able to resist their pernicious effects than the world that Mary Poppins lives in.

It also makes sense that a community will be stronger and more resilient if its institutions establish confidence in protection of all members of the community against violence and intimidation. Fear is a toxic emotion in a multicultural community. If a community can ensure that racist actions will be appropriately addressed, and that no one needs to fear racist or hateful violence, then the anxieties created by anonymous hateful messages should have less effect on the cohesiveness of the community. This means that effective and predictable policing and law enforcement is an important source of community resilience.

So we might say that a resilient multicultural community is one in which --

• there are lasting inter-group ties through organizations and person-to-person relationships;
• leaders from civil society and from important organizations publicly espouse the values of inclusion and respect;
• there is a broad understanding of the dynamics of hate and the possibility of occasional hateful occurrences; and
• there is deep confidence in the ability of the community to provide safety for all its members through effective law enforcement.

These circumstances are likely to build the ongoing trust and commitment to positive intergroup loyalties that will make the community resilient to the efforts of hateful outsiders (or insiders) to disrupt its harmonious fabric of civil life.

How democracies die

 

image: Senator Josh Hawley salutes January 6 insurrection

Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt have written with growing alarm about the threat to our democracy by right-wing extremism. How Democracies Die was sobering when it appeared in 2017, and the publication of Tyranny of the Minority: Why American Democracy Reached the Breaking Point (2023) reaches an even higher level of fear for our democratic institutions.

But just as this new democratic experiment was beginning to take root, America experienced an authoritarian backlash so fierce that it shook the foundations of the republic, leaving our allies across the world worried about whether the country had any democratic future at all. Meaningful steps toward democratic inclusion often trigger intense—even authoritarian—reactions. But the assault on American democracy was worse than anything we anticipated in 2017, when we were writing our first book, How Democracies Die. (Tyranny of the Minority, 5)

Levitsky and Ziblatt have spent their careers studying authoritarian regimes and their dynamics, so their assessment of our current situation is eye-opening. And of course, the situation today is worse than what they surveyed in 2023 — much worse. The earlier book focused on the powerful streaks of authoritarianism present in MAGA nationalism — race-baiting, contempt for democratic norms and practices, treating political opponents as contemptible enemies, and barely concealed willingness to defy Federal courts when rulings run contrary to the MAGA agenda. In the current book their focus is on the features of the political institutions (and the elected representatives) which have permitted these authoritarian dreams to come to reality.

They begin by identify a familiar aspect of US politics — the fact that electoral and congressional processes empower “partisan minorities” in dangerous ways.

The U.S. Constitution allows partisan minorities to routinely thwart majorities, and sometimes even govern them. Institutions that empower partisan minorities can become instruments of minority rule. And they are especially dangerous when they are in the hands of extremist or antidemocratic partisan minorities. (Tyranny, 10)

They emphasize that the extremist themes of the MAGA movement — white supremacy, Christian nationalism, anti-immigrant hatred, and glorification of strongman rule — have never been majority views in the US electorate. But a party exploiting these themes has in fact succeeded in gaining control of Congress, the presidency, and the Supreme Court. And this party has been fully willing to use its power to enforce its agenda on the rest of us.

The authors devote a chapter to several historical episodes of attempted right-wing seizures of power in the twentieth century. The first is an episode in France in 1934 that few of us have heard of. In the 1930s political instability in France, along with economic crises and unemployment, nourished the emergence of a constituency of radical right-wing opposition to French political institutions. These included young men and demobilized soldiers from WWI.

On the afternoon of February 6, 1934, tens of thousands of angry young men, mostly members of veterans’ associations and right-wing militias (or “leagues”) with names like Young Patriots, French Action, and Croix de Feu (Cross of Fire) gathered in or near the prominent Place de la Concorde, across the river from France’s national parliament building. Although the groups diverged in their ideologies and goals, they were united in their hostility toward parliamentary democracy. (Tyranny, 34)

On this winter night a large group of these militants marched on parliament. Clashes with mounted police occurred, and some of the militants were able to enter the parliament. “Members of parliament had to sneak out the back door, frightened for their lives. One minister attempted to escape but was discovered by protesters, who dragged him to the river, changing ‘Throw him in the Seine!’ (He was saved by police officers who happened to be nearby.)” (36)

France’s democracy survived the February 6, 1934, assault. But it was badly weakened. Prime Minister Édouard Daladier immediately resigned. He was replaced by Gaston Doumergue, a right-wing politician who was considered acceptable to the leagues. The goal of some of the insurrectionists had been achieved: the center-left Daladier government had been brought down by street pressure. Right-wing extremists were emboldened and mobilized. (36)

And here is the crucial point: the political leaders of France at this moment of crisis did not stand together in denouncing the violent, anti-democratic assault on the parliament:

Yet France’s leading conservative party, the Republican Federation, took a remarkably tolerant stance toward these extremist groups. Founded in 1903, the Federation had been led for many years by Louis Marin, a man with solid democratic credentials. But in the early 1930s, the party drifted to the right, first flirting with, and then openly embracing, the Young Patriot activists in its midst. Long considered a party of the elite, the Federation grew dependent on the Young Patriots and other far-right leagues as a source of activism and energy. Because the same individuals appeared in both groups, the boundary between the official “party” and the violent activists of the leagues grew harder to discern. (37)

There is a disturbing parallel between the French uprising in 1934 and the January 6 Capitol Insurrection in 2021. It is remarkable and disturbing to see how the Republican Party and Donald Trump have rewritten the history of the January 6 insurrection at the US Capitol. And Trump’s mass pardon of almost 1,600 individuals who were charged or convicted of crimes on that day makes it clear: he condones (and even encouraged) the actions taken by his supporters on that day. He and his MAGA followers seem to agree with the words quoted by Levitsky and Ziblatt from a vice president of the Republican Federation: “martyrs who can never be sufficiently praised or honored, [they] have paid with their lives…. The blood poured out on February 6, 1934 will be a seed of a great national awakening” (38).

Here is the most important conclusion that Ziblatt and Levitsky draw: the most important bulwark of a democracy is a unified rejection across all political parties of violent and anti-constitutional actions, no matter who stands to gain from those actions. And this is precisely where the Republican Party has failed the American public: it has not reaffirmed our shared democratic principles and has entirely failed to denounce efforts to bypass or destroy our democratic institutions.

Democracies get into trouble when mainstream parties tolerate, condone, or protect authoritarian extremists—when they become authoritarian enablers. Indeed, throughout history, cooperation between authoritarians and seemingly respectable semi-loyal democrats has been a recipe for democratic breakdown. (41)

The phrase “semi-loyal democrats” is key to their analysis. This is the weak link in any democracy in which there is prolonged political conflict. These are politicians who officially affirm the constitution and the rule of law; but who look for gestures and language that will establish common ground with the extremist groups and individuals whose actions most threaten constitution and the rule of law. Democratic institutions are most in peril when “semi-loyal democrats” are most numerous.

To be a loyal democrat, Ziblatt and Levitsky argue that political figures must honor four principles:

• expel antidemocratic extremists from their own ranks
• sever all ties — public and private — with allied groups that engage in antidemocratic behavior
• unambiguously condemn political violence and other antidemocratic behavior
• join forces with rival pro-democratic parties to isolate and defeat antidemocratic extremists (41-43)

By these standards, there are very few “loyal democrats” among the elected Republican members of Congress today. John McCain would fall in this category; so would Liz Cheney. Mitch McConnell does not, and, judging from the photo above, neither does Josh Hawley. There are a few others who have shown this kind of principle and courage; but it is not the majority. And this is a great risk to the continuing vitality of our democracy.

The dual state (1938)

Ernst Fraenkel’s book The Dual State: A Contribution to the Theory of Dictatorship offers instructive and ominous reading today. Written during the rise of Hitler’s National-Socialist state by a German Jewish lawyer, it serves as a piece of “ethnographic study of the transformation of the authoritarian state” by a covert participant-observer. Fraenkel published The Dual State in 1941 after he left Germany and joined the faculty at the University of Chicago. Fraenkel (1896-1975) was Jewish, but he was also a veteran of World War I and was therefore exempt for a time from the expulsion of Jews from the legal profession. He wrote a detailed analysis of the creation by the Nazi regime of a dual state. His fundamental insight, explored in detail in the book, is that Hitler’s totalitarian state was in fact a “dual” state. It consisted of a fairly traditional system of laws and rules governing business, contracts, property, and other issues of ordinary life in civil society (the Normative State) and simultaneously it embodied a dictatorial state consisting of edicts and executive orders from the Hitler regime (the Prerogative State).

By the Prerogative State we mean that governmental system which exercises unlimited arbitrariness and violence unchecked by any legal guarantees, and by the Normative State an administrative body endowed with elaborate powers for safeguarding the legal order as expressed in statutes, decisions of the courts, and activities of the administrative agencies. (ix)

Fraenkel’s key insight was that this duality was not transitional; it was not simply a moment in time during the process of creating a totalitarian state that governed every aspect of life in Germany. Instead, it was an ongoing necessity created by the fact that Germany required a reasonably predictable legal and business environment in which companies could do the work of preparing for a war economy. The Normative State could not overrule the dictates of the Prerogative State; but the great bulk of transactions in a modern political and economic system do not need special “one-of-a-kind” dictates to function. And at moments of conflict between the apparatus of the two states, the Prerogative State invariably prevailed.

The National-Socialist state is remarkable not only for its supreme arbitrary powers but also for the way in which it has succeeded in combining arbitrary powers with a capitalistic economic organization. One of the basic propositions of Max Weber’s works is that a rational legal system is indispensable for the operation of a capitalistic economic order. (xiv)

Reading The Dual State in 2026 creates a harrowing sense of familiarity: so many of the steps towards dictatorial rule and the Prerogative State in 1933-36 seem to have close parallels with developments in the United States today. Rule by presidential decree, empowerment of legions of unregulated “Homeland Security police”, and methodical dismissal of existing constitutional limitations on the power of the president — these developments are familiar in the US since January 2025, and Fraenkel documents highly similar steps in the creation of the National-Socialist state in 1933-36.

How did the dictatorial state get established in Germany at the end of the Weimar Republic? The answer is prophetic when we consider the strategy pursued since January 2025. Trump promised to be a “dictator for a day”, and has largely attempted to rule by Executive Order rather than by legislation through Congress. He has expressed contempt for the Federal judiciary and the Congress and has made it plain through his actions and decrees that he intends to rule by fiat. This is precisely how Hitler’s regime began, according to Fraenkel:

Martial Law provides the constitution of the Third Reich. The constitutional charter of the Third Reich is the Emergency Decree of February 28, 1933. On the basis of this decree the political sphere of German public life has been removed from the jurisdiction of the general law. Administrative and general courts aided in the achievement of this condition. The guiding basic principle of political administration is not justice; law is applied in the light of ‘the circumstances of the individual case,’ the purpose being achievement of a political aim. (1)

The legal framework of the Prerogative State was established by conferring “absolute dictatorial power [upon] the Leader and Chancellor either personally or through his subordinate authorities…. The sovereign power of the Leader and Chancellor to act unhampered by restrictions is now thoroughly legalized.” (4)

And what about the forces of repression at the command of the state? Fraenkel shows how this function devolved onto the Secret State Police (Gestapo):

Outstanding among the executive branches of the absolute dictatorship is the Secret State Police (Gestapo). This body has always been and still is organized in accordance with state law. In Prussia, the functions of the Gestapo are regulated by three statutes. The Office of the Secret Police was established in April 1933. The Secret State Police was transformed into a special police force in November 1933. The general powers of the Gestapo were finally defined by the Prussian statute of February 10, 1936, which revoked the earlier statutes. (7)

Again, there is a terrible parallel between this development in 1933 and the sudden and reckless expansion and unleashing of Homeland Security and ICE agents against the citizens of numerous US cities. Has Homeland Security become the Trump administration’s Gestapo?

The next step in the formation of the National-Socialist state in 1933 was to formally establish that the security and police organs of the state were no longer subject to legal limitation or review:

In their enforcement of the Decree of February 28, 1933, the police are neither bound by the provisions of the Constitution nor by any other law. The Prussian Supreme Court (Kammergericht) in a decision of May 31, 1935, held that ‘the Prussian Executive Decree (Durchfuhrimgsverordnung) of March 3, 1933, leaves no doubt that Par. 1 of the Decree of February 28, 1933, . . . removes all federal and state restraints on the power of the police to whatever extent is required for the execution of the aims promulgated in the decree. The question of appropriateness and necessity is not subject to appeal.’ (14)

And in fact, the Gestapo simply disregarded the rulings of high courts concerning its actions:

Although the Reichsgericht [court] supported the Supreme Administrative Court, the Gestapo disregarded its decisions. A leading official of the Gestapo, Ministerialrat Eickhoff, characterized theGestapo as a ‘general staff, responsible for the defense measures as well as the equally necessary offensive measures against all the enemies of the state.’ (18)

So any action taken by Gestapo forces was formally and legally unchallengeable. Fraenkel goes into more detail about the “abolition of judicial review” of police actions later in this same chapter, quoting a legal adviser to the Gestapo.

‘The task of combatting all movements dangerous to the state implies the power of using all necessary means, provided they are not in conflict with the law. Such conflicts with the law, however, are no longer possible since all restrictions have been removed following the Decree of February 28, 1933, and the triumph of National-Socialist legal and political theory.’ (23)

This sounds very close to the claims of “absolute immunity” that leaders within the Trump administration have asserted on behalf of Homeland Security and ICE agents in the conduct of their duties. The murder of Renée Nicole Good, it appears, will go entirely unpunished.

Essentially Fraenkel demonstrates that the Prerogative State of National Socialism depends upon the idea that the Supreme Leader and his associates have complete authority in deciding what is to be done for the nation. No courts, no legal framework, no constitution can limit that authority. Fraenkel notes that an earlier advocate for unlimited monarchical power made very similar arguments for the unlimited and unconstrained authority of the “monarch” three centuries earlier:

More than 300 years ago a similar demand was made in England. King James I, in his famous message to the Star Chamber (June 20, 1616), declared that in political questions the decision rested with the Crown and not with the Courts. ‘Encroach not upon the prerogative of the Crown. If there fall out a question that concerns my prerogative or mystery of State, deal not with it till you consult with the King or his Council or both; for they are transcendent matters … As for the absolute prerogative of the Crown, that is no subject for the tongue of a lawyer, nor is it lawful to be disputed. It is atheism and blasphemy to dispute what God can do . . . so it is presumption and high contempt in a subject to dispute what a King can do, or say that a King cannot do this or that. (36)

No wonder the demonstrations around the United States expressing citizen resistance to the authoritarianism of the Trump regime are organized around the slogan, “No Kings!”. We live in a constitutional republic, and no individual or party is unconstrained by constitution and law.

Making a far-right activist

Far-right supporters of CasaPound

How can we understand some of the factors that lead to the development of far-right beliefs and worldview in young people? Why do a certain number of people in their teens and twenties develop a political fascination with neofascism, anti-immigrant extremism, and a range of racist ideas? Is this an expression of psychopathology just waiting for a trigger? Is it the “politics of cultural despair” re-emerging in the democratic west? Is it economic hopelessness and anger?

Polish-born ethnographer Agnieszka Pasieka has spent the first years of her research career doing in-person ethnography to try to get a better understanding of this issue. Her recent Living Right: Far-Right Youth Activists in Contemporary Europe presents some of her findings. Here are a few short descriptions that she offers concerning the challenges presented to ethnographers who undertake to study far-right organizations and activists.

Transnational ethnography is not easy either. And neither is a (transnational) ethnography of the far right. This book is an attempt to come closer to an understanding of the ideas and practices driving the varied forms of far-right activism that have been unfolding in recent years, both locally and transnationally. It strives to problematize the very ideas of the “local” and the “transnational,” demonstrating, on the one hand, how ethnographic knowledge can help to unpack these notions and, on the other, how research of this sort is a lesson in humility, prompting us to recognize the limits of our ability to define and capture the nature of “here” and “there.” It similarly strives to unpack the notions of the “far-right activist” and the “far-right movement” by juxtaposing common assumptions about who they are and what they represent with the activists’ own understandings. For me, anthropology is the language that mediates this process. (22)

One point that she emphasizes throughout her work is the heterogeneity of paths, beliefs, and worldviews that the activists she studies have experienced. She does not suppose that there is a single pathway or set of causes that lead a young person from adolescent daily life to a political affinity with the far right.

It took time to see through the label “far-right activism” and begin to discover a complex landscape made up of individuals and community, coercion and choice, violence and friendliness, conformism and revolt. It was a journey during which I learned how to get close to and yet keep a distance from people I had previously not even considered talking to, and how to create a respectful research relationship (at times close to friendship) despite the fact that I could not, to say the least, respect some of their claims and actions. It is important to emphasize that although I was accepted as a travel companion, I remained a stranger, sometimes even a suspect one. (22)

Here she articulates two problems that almost any ethnographer must confront: to avoid easy generalizations, and to negotiate the relationship between one’s role as an investigator and the personal rapport that is required in order to gain understanding of the other person’s journey.

Pasieka’s 2022 article, “‘Tomorrow belongs to us’: Pathways to Activism in Italian Far-Right Youth Communities” (link), provides a compact exposure to her style of research and some of her central findings about far-right youth activism. She offers a short historical context of fascist ideology in Italy, and her account focuses on the orientation towards the future that she finds in the language and “grammar” of the fascist and neo-fascist movement. The ethnographic content of the article involves her profiles of three young Italian activists, each with a very different story about their route to what amounts to a neo-fascist set of political commitments. Here is the future-orientation of the fascist/neo-fascist ideology that she describes:

When analyzing their agenda, it appears clear that activists like to present themselves as drawing first and foremost on the “fascism-movement” period as opposed to the “fascism-regime” one (de Felice 1997[1975]). In providing this distinction, Renzo de Felice highlighted the vitality and the revolutionary character of the“fascism-movement,” its emphasis on rebirth and orientation toward the future (ibid.: 28–29). Present-day activists eagerly embrace this vocabulary, particularly the need to adhere to revolution and build a New Man, a new society, and a new civilization. Further, as the“fascism-movement” era was also the one in which the socialist component was accentuated, it corresponds with the view of far-right movements that they are the “true” defenders of the interests of their working-class compatriots. (158)

She describes Leo’s earliest interest in neo-fascist politics in these terms:

Leo explained that he had been an active member of Forza Nuova since late high school, when he joined a meeting after a short encounter with an FN member. Prior to that, he neither held views close to those of FN nor knew much about the group. The first thing he appreciated about it, and at the same time found to be most crucial, was the community’s desire to “break the mold” (uscire dagli schemi): to believe in and create a political alternative. (160)

In spite of her desire not to reach premature generalizations, she closes “Tomorrow belongs to us” by identifying “three key factors” in the appeal of neo-fascist organizations to Italian young people:

My analysis suggests three key factors. The first is the kind of community the far-right promises: this community is presented, and experienced, as having an educational and ethical mission, as focused on“doing,” as providing members with an unconditional support and, fundamentally, as a community that transcends here and now. It is a community grounded in some ideas from the past and simultaneously constituting a model for the future. This aspect best explains people’s fascination with fascism as a movement, such as Codreanu’s grassroots activism. The second factor is that the actions of this community address “injustice”—taking care of neglected co-nationals or forgotten Christians—and speak to the injustice militants claim they too experience. As I indicated, this relates to their experiences of and with ethno-religious diversity and migration which lead them to reevaluate the importance of being rooted in and valuing “national culture.” The community is thus a vehicle which recasts social solidarity in terms of cultural particularism (Feischmidt 2020). The third factor is a lofty vocabulary marking the community discourse: the weight given to altruism and sacrifice, and on their heroic mission and arduous path. Such a rhetoric further reinforces the value of belonging to the community and, by extension, helps to “identify” political opponents (as individualistic, disregarding hierarchies, and lacking any broader vision). (175)

And in Living Right she offers a similar diagnosis:

During a conversation with an Italian activist in which we discussed what made their project special, my interlocutor affirmed: “It is simple. We want people to fall in love with our view of the world. We want to reenchant the world.” Reenchantment—which is necessarily related to the experience of disenchantment and the experience of liberal modernity—opens up numerous interpretative possibilities. It encourages us to discuss the radical nationalist project against the background of a long tradition of antimodernist and anti-Enlightenment critique; to consider it as a kind of Occidentalist narrative; and finally—and perhaps unsurprisingly—to ask whether the process of disenchantment and reenchantment is what radical nationalist activists find most inspiring about the fascist project. (41)

The movements I have been researching are often dubbed fascist or neofascist. These terms are used in political speech meant to cast them as intransigent opponents as well as in scholarly work that tries to make sense of ongoing developments. I acknowledge the importance of the historical dimension both as a source of comparisons for scholars and also, perhaps more critically, as a source on which far-right activists flexibly draw in their interpretations of history, as well as in their activism, to bring about desired futures. While their use of “fascist” grammar and vocabulary is obvious, the ways they are deployed are less so. Rather than assuming activists’ relationship to the past, I ask: What do they do with the past, broadly conceived, to make it speak to the future? (41)

This seems to present a rather idealistic and forward-looking view of the appeal of the ideology of neofascism. And while Pasieka does not ignore the explicit racism, anti-Semitism, and anti-Muslim language that is also associated with the Italian neofascist groups she studies, the issue of racism and xenophobia does not enter this closing diagnosis in an explicit way. She refers to “cultural particularism” in this summary, but the motivation of background religious and racial hatred and prejudice does not enter into her summary of the attraction of these parties to young people. We are left here with an impression of “idealistic young people” who are dissatisfied with “politics as usual” and want a new start. But this doesn’t seem to capture the core of neofascist politics and the appeal of these parties and activists.

Pasieka’s somewhat benign view of the motivations of young far-right activists seems to contrast fairly sharply with the findings of other ethnographic researchers of the far right, including Kathleen Blee and Cynthia Miller-Idriss. See in particular the virulent racism that Blee describes in her ethnography of the KKK and the emphasis on racism and violence offered by Blee and Creasap in their review article, “Conservative and Right-Wing Movements” (link). 

Right-wing movements in the United States openly and virulently embrace racism, anti-Semitism, and/or xenophobia and promote violence. They include long-standing racist movements such as the KKK; white supremacist, neo-Nazi, and white power skinhead groups; and racialist and violent groups of nationalists and patriots (Gallaher 2004, McVeigh 2009, Zeskind 2009). Their historical orientations vary, with the KKK focused on the Confederacy of the Civil War era, neo-Nazis focused on World War II–era Nazi Germany, and nationalists/patriots focused on the 1776 American Revolution (Durham 2007). Their locations also vary, as the KKK is generally in the South and Midwest, neo-Nazis across the country, and nationalists/patriots in the West and Southwest (Flint 2004a). Most right-wing groups are viciously white supremacist and anti-Semitic, regarding non-whites and Jews as inferior, destructive, and fearsome and seeking to preserve the power and privileges of white Aryans (Blee 2007b, Fredrickson 2002). (Blee and Creasap, 275)

Likewise, Miller-Idriss emphasizes the central part played by racism in mobilization of the far right in the US in Hate in the Homeland. (I should note that Miller-Idriss offers a favorable review of Living Right in Comparative Politics.)

Consider this description offered by Tobias Jones in the Guardian (2/22/2017; link) of the CasaPound movement in Italy. As a piece of documentary journalism it complements Pasieka’s ethnographic research. After describing a covert takeover of an abandoned government office building in Rome, Jones writes:

That building became the headquarters of a new movement called CasaPound. Over the next 15 years, it would open another 106 centres across Italy. Iannone, who had been in the Italian army for three years, described each new centre as a “territorial reconquest”. Because every centre was self-financing, and because they claimed to “serve the people”, those new centres in turn opened gyms, pubs, bookshops, parachute clubs, diving clubs, motorbike clubs, football teams, restaurants, nightclubs, tattoo parlours and barbershops. CasaPound suddenly seemed everywhere. But it presented itself as something beyond politics: this was “metapolitics” , echoing the influential fascist philosopher Giovanni Gentile, who wrote in 1925 that fascism was “before all else a total conception of life”. Until then, fascist revivals had usually been seen, by the Italian mainstream, as nostalgic, uncultured and thuggish. CasaPound was different. It presented itself as forward-looking, cultured, even inclusive. Iannone had been drawn to fascism in his youth because of a “fascination with the symbols”, and now he creatively mixed and matched code words, slogans and symbols from Mussolini’s ventennio” (as his 20-year rule is known), and turned them into 21st-century song lyrics, logos and political positions. In a country in which style and pose are paramount, CasaPound was fascism for hipsters. There were reports of violence, but that – for young men who felt aimless, sidelined, even emasculated – only added to the attraction. Many flocked to pay their €15 to become members.

By the early 2000s, it was no longer taboo for mainstream politicians to speak warmly of Mussolini: admirers of Il Duce had become government ministers, and many fringe, fascist parties were growing in strength – Forza Nuova, Fronte Sociale Nazionale, and various skinhead groups. But where the other fascists seemed like throwbacks to the 1930s, CasaPound focused on contemporary causes and staged creative campaigns: in 2006 they hung 400 mannequins all over Rome, with signs protesting about the city’s housing crisis. In 2012, CasaPound militants occupied the European Union’s office in Rome and dumped sacks of coal outside to protest on behalf of Italian miners. Many of their policies looked surprising: they were against immigration, of course, but on the supposedly “progressive” grounds that the exploitation of immigrant labourers represented a return to slavery.

Like Pasieka, Jones seems to be providing a kind of “progressive populist” interpretation of this resurgence of fascism — something more hip than the old-fashioned dress, language, and symbols of the crude racism of the 1950s that young people can find an affinity with. Ironically, Jones himself seems to share some of the generational cultural discontent that Pasieka’s ethnographic subjects experience as well. Here is the publisher’s description of his book about Italy, Utopian Dreams:

This is a travel book, an account of the year Tobias Jones spent living in communes and amongst unusual dreamers. It is his attempt to retreat from the ‘real world’ – which is making him emptier and angrier by the day – and seek out the alternatives to modern manners and morality. Instead of cynicism, loneliness and depression is it possible to be idealistic, find belonging and companionship? Are there really groups that transcend the opposites of individualism and community, where you can be truly yourself but also part of something else? With his wife and baby daughter in tow, Jones visits unusual orphanages, retirement villages, detox co-operatives and old-fashioned farmyards, and spends time with spiritualists, time travellers, reformed drug addicts and Quakers. He encounters wildly different communities, some more harmonious than others, which lead him to ask the deeply unfashionable question: do groups that place faith at their centre work better than those that don’t?

The role of political education in social progress

Stephen Esquith has spent much of his career observing, teaching, and engaging in “conflict societies”, and trying to develop an understanding of how best to move from high-violence to low-violence societies. In particular he has spent a great deal of time in Mali in west Africa. He has come to emphasize the importance of “political education” as a critical ingredient of building an enduring and peaceful community. Here are several passages from his recent book Everyday Peacebuilding through Democratic Political Education where he expresses what he means by “political education”.

To achieve everyday peace between neighboring communities at odds with each other, democratic political education must lead to a dialogue, not just a ceasefire or a peace accord. Demobilization, development, and reintegration will have to be regularly renegotiated, and to do this will require a democratic political education that addresses the emotionally charged nature of this process. I have argued that the arts and humanities can prompt such a radically poised dialogue. (240)

Radical poise can do this collectively through a process of democratic political education that prepares citizens, prospective citizens, and conditional citizens to coordinate their antipodal abilities for self-restraint, resistance, humility, political respect for dignity, and protest. (230)

When appropriately cultivated through a democratic political education in the arts and humanities, radical poise in theory and radically poised processions in practice together have the potential to limit negative political emotions such as anger, hatred, and fear and to coordinate a countervailing set of political virtues (self-restraint, resistance, political respect, humility, and protest) necessary for everyday peacebuilding. [It is] the process of making of liberal citizens. (1,3)

We might paraphrase the idea of political education as “the cultivation, formal and informal, of the attitudes, beliefs, norms, and practices of members of society as they interact with other citizens”.

Esquith has the view that these processes can be facilitated by the arts and humanities, and that the arts and humanities can contribute significantly towards the development of expectations and attitudes that facilitate more peaceful inter-group interactions and cooperation.

Esquith criticizes the tradition of liberal political thought for its tendency to present the problem of political education as one of formulating convincing “theories of justice” based on independent purposive individuals, and for a parallel tendency to reduce citizenship to a purely formal status of individuals within a system of law. The moral status of citizens is reduced to the categories of clientelism and consumerism, in place of a richer phenomenology of inter-personal emotions, obligations, and loyalties. It becomes a transactional conception of citizenship.

In place of this abstract and flat conception of the “citizen” as rational and mutually disinterested individuals, Esquith advances a new conception of democratic social practice that he formulates as radical poise. This virtue is thought to be “capable of (1) coordinating the constituent political virtues and emotions of self-restraint, resistance, humility, political respect for civic dignity, and protest to counter the political violence that fuels forced displacement and (2) constituting a more inclusive demos that embodies these coordinated political virtues and emotions in the exercise of political power with one another, not over others” (Everyday Forms, 4-5). “To be radically poised in such moments of political vertigo is to be actively and imaginatively committed to expanding a diverse demos peacefully even when it seems to be splintering further apart.” (5).

The ideal that Esquith has in mind for a transition to a more peaceful Mali or other existing conflict societies is a powerful one. The goal is to help citizens to a new way of thinking about their society and their neighbors:

That is, to imagine a form of politics that is not a zero-sum competitive contest for power over others but rather a collaborative search for power with one another to constitute a political society, a demos, appropriate in scale and more inclusive in active membership that is capable of resisting and overcoming those forms of anger, fear, and hatred that stereotype and exploit forcibly displaced persons, refugees, immigrants, and fugitives and on which further political violence feeds. (13)

Esquith describes his own strategy in these terms:

My focus is on the prior democratic political education needed to limit negative political emotions and cultivate collective political virtues and the concomitant emotions that orient citizens, prospective citizens, and conditional citizens—the emergent demos—toward alternative conceptions of power so that changes in resource availability and the opportunities to use them can be realistically imagined as part of what I call a radically poised procession. (16)

And later:

To be more effective than the procedures for peacekeeping and peacebuilding that have focused primarily but with inadequate success on liberal state-building and retribution, a process of everyday hybrid peacebuilding through political education must be able to counter negative political emotions, cultivate positive political virtues, and reorient citizens and prospective citizens toward democratic conceptions of political power with mutual trust, imagination, and realistic hope. (87)

Here I would like to extend this line of thought by suggesting a parallel with the problem of moving from a society in which there is a high degree of racism and inter-group antagonism to one in which these negative social emotions have been replaced by more tolerant and respectful ideas about members of other groups. In particular, can the cultural strands of hate and racism that persist in the United States and other liberal democracies through some of the same mechanisms of education that Esquith considers for conflict societies? In my view, the parallel is a deep one. Consider this point about political respect as a democratic virtue:

I will use the word “respect” to refer to a particular kind of respectful political attitude toward others. To treat others with political respect is to respect their rights and responsibilities as equal citizens and to recognize their role in the generation and control of power. (118)

This understanding of respect is directly supportive of a deep conception of equality, and it is flatly incompatible with racism. So when processes of political education succeed in cultivating attitudes of political respect for one’s fellow citizens, these processes are also doing the work of dissolving racist attitudes and behaviors.

Esquith uses the concept of demos throughout the book. The concept requires some explication. He is explicit that the demos is the people of a state, and it is heterogeneous in multiple ways: norms, nationalities, ethnicities, and sometimes legal status (citizen, fugitive citizen, non-citizen). As in classical Greek political philosophy, the demos is distinctly different from the concept of the polis. The polis is held together by a civic culture and shared values; whereas the demos is the people of the nation without any assumption of bonds of loyalty, civic identity, or shared values.

An emergent demos of citizens, conditional citizens, and potential citizens—whatever their formal legal status—must learn to limit the negative political emotions of fear, anger, hatred, and resentment (their own as well as those of others) that drive the cycles of political violence in rich and poor countries alike. (9)

We might say that the role of political education is to find effective institutions, arrangements, and practices through which a demos is transformed into some version of a polis — a political community in which most or all citizens regard each other with respect and value each other’s dignity and freedoms. And this begins to sound more like the vision that Martin Luther King, Jr., described in his vision of a post-racist society, a beloved community.

Affirming democracy

If you are concerned about the fate of our democratic institutions, the rise of xenophobia and hate, and the rule of law, please consider visiting affirmingdemocracy.org — an ongoing group blog aimed at affirming our democracy and opposing the racism, lawlessness, and authoritarianism we now face.

This group blog describes its goals in these terms —

We are a small group of friends and neighbors who reject the turn to authoritarianism, racism, and lawlessness shown by the current Federal administration. This site will serve as a hub for sharing stories and discussions about the realities facing our country and our many communities.

We support a just and equal multicultural democracy, governed by law and constitution, and we want to work together to return our country to these values. In Rousseau’s words, we support a “free community of equals”.

We have many thoughts and fears about the policies and actions of our government today. We do not have a shared credo, but we are united in our love of freedom, equality, constitution, mutual respect, and civil community.

In particular, many of us notice many of the same things:

• We condemn the assault on immigrants and the cruel and lawless enforcement regime the Federal government has enacted.
• We are horrified at the assault on Medicaid and the likely effects these policy changes will have on millions of people in our country.
• We reject the administration’s attack on scientific and medical research, universities, and academic freedom across the country.
• We fear for the future of our country when we consider the ongoing assault on medical research and sound public health planning.
• We condemn the current administration for its lawlessness and its contempt for both Constitution and the Federal judiciary.
• We abhor the administration’s efforts to censor and dictate the museums, libraries, parks, and collections that document our country’s history and share its art, music, and literature.
• We are ashamed of our government’s desertion of Ukraine and the president’s embrace of a bloody-handed dictator, Vladimir Putin.
• We are horrified at the embrace of white supremacy and racial resentment that is encouraged by the current government.
• We reject the government’s war on Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion, with full awareness of how far our society must go in order to achieve real justice.

Readers of Affirming Democracy are encouraged to find their own ways of supporting peaceful protest and advocacy in support of our shared democratic values and institutions. There is power in collective protest and shared support for our constitutional system.