Umberto Eco was right all along
I am Italian. I had the absolute privilege that only Italian speakers have to have read Umberto Eco's books in their original language.
For those who may not know, Umberto Eco was one of the greatest writers, philosophers, and intellectuals of our time. His works include absolute masterpieces such as The Name of the Rose and Foucault’s Pendulum, which are arguably his most well-known books.
I suppose even the finest intellectual could not have anticipated the sheer level of pathetic and stupidity displayed by the oligarchs of this millennium — Elon Musk above all.
Words have a meaning
Exactly 100 years ago, on January 3, 1925, Mussolini delivered a famous speech to the Italian Parliament, taking responsibility for the assassination of socialist politician Giacomo Matteotti in 1924. This marked a turning point as Mussolini asserted his authority and began repressing opposition more openly. We were entering into a real dictatorship.
Fascism robbed our country of everything. It forced us into a war that claimed over half a million lives, drove soldiers to colonize parts of Africa, enacted racial laws, and ultimately inspired Hitler’s regime and the horrific events that followed.
This is why I do not use the word “fascism” lightly, as I understand the weight it carries. It is out of respect for those who suffered during that time.
Even our current president, Giorgia Meloni, whose political party evolved from a neo-fascist lineage (Alleanza Nazionale, and before that, Movimento Sociale Italiano), cannot be accurately described as a fascist.
Karl Marx once said, “History repeats itself first by tragedy and second by farce”.
Giorgia Meloni, Ignazio La Russa, and all of the people in their party are simply a joke. A farce.
Even when La Russa, our current president of the Senate, has a statue of Mussolini at home. He’s a ridiculous politician and human being.
And don't dare tell me my words are political because there’s no politics involved when it comes to fascism. As Sandro Pertini, former Italian president and partisan wisely said:
All ideas must be respected. Fascism, no. It is not an idea. It is the death of all ideas.
This is the hill I’ll die on. I understand the weight carried by the word “fascism,” which is why I can only openly describe myself as an antifascist, just as the Padri Costituenti (Constituent Fathers) were when they wrote the Italian Constitution after twenty years of fascism.
My country is antifascist by Consitution.
So, before reading any further, keep that in mind. I only use certain words when I understand the seriousness of what I’m talking about.
Historic knowledge has a meaning
This is where we reconnect with Umberto Eco. As a highly respected intellectual, he was frequently invited to conferences to speak on topics such as history, philosophy, and literature.
On April 25, 1995, he delivered a speech at Columbia University in New York, which was later published as a small book that I highly recommend to everyone: Eternal Fascism: Fourteen Ways of Looking at a Blackshirt.
The essay begins with the author’s personal reflections on Fascism, drawing from his own experiences in youth. It then attempts to describe Fascism as a general phenomenon, referring to it as “Eternal Fascism” or “Ur-Fascism.” Unlike Nazism, which was explicitly codified in Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf, Fascism lacked a coherent philosophy, leading to contradictions on various topics (e.g., its stance on religion), despite being rooted in the late Hegelian concept of the “absolute ethical state.” However, Fascism emotionally drew upon certain archetypes, which the author outlines in a list of 14 points.
1: The cult of tradition
Trump’s campaign slogan, “Make America Great Again,” is the perfect example of a cult of tradition. It encapsulates a belief in returning to a perceived golden age of American greatness, idealizing a past that is framed as superior to the present.
The slogan appeals to traditional values, such as a stronger economy, perceived societal stability, and dominance on the global stage, while glossing over the complexities and flaws of that past — such as issues of inequality, systemic racism, and a lack of social progress.
2: The rejection of modernism
Trump and Musk’s rejection of modernism is evident in various ways, particularly in their stance on multiculturalism, social progress, diversity initiatives, and modern challenges like climate change.
Remember the Muslim travel ban? Or labeling Mexican immigrants as drug dealers, criminals, and rapists? And what about pulling the USA out of the Paris Agreement on climate change on his first day of presidency?
By rejecting modern values, Trump appeals to those who felt alienated by rapid societal changes, offering a comforting narrative of a return to a “better time” (as described in point 1, the cult of tradition).
3: The cult of action for action’s sake
The cult of action for action’s sake glorifies impulsive, uncritical action over thought, deliberation, or scientific planning. It prioritizes doing something — anything — regardless of its effectiveness, often dismissing intellectual and scientific approaches as weak or unnecessary.
A clear example of this is Trump’s reliance on executive orders over legislative processes, which illustrates a preference for immediate action while bypassing Congress's slower, more deliberative work.
Other good examples include his derision of experts and intellectuals and detailed planning, which he often framed as obstacles to action.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, he frequently dismissed the advice of health officials and scientists, instead promoting unproven treatments like hydroxychloroquine or even suggesting, in off-the-cuff remarks, the possibility of bleach injections — ideas put forward without any scientific backing.
He’s also the one who suggested nuking hurricanes to prevent them from reaching the U.S.
4: Disagreement is treason
This point reflects an authoritarian mindset where dissent or criticism is equated with disloyalty, betrayal, or outright opposition to the State or leader. In this framework, differing opinions are not tolerated, as they are seen as a threat to unity, the leader’s authority, or the perceived greatness of the nation.
As per Trump’s chief of staff, the president expressed support for hanging Mike Pence, his own vice president, on Jan 6, 2021, during the Capitol Riot.
Mike Pence was perceived as a traitor because he refused to overturn the 2020 presidential election results.
Of course, there is a long list of examples (Republicans In Name Only, media as the enemy of the people, and many more), but I think that expressing support for hanging a person is enough.
5: Fear of difference
That’s an easy one.
The fear of difference is often used as a tool to unify an in-group by demonizing outsiders and fostering solidarity among supporters.
It also serves to justify exclusionary policies, such as immigration bans, discriminatory laws, or the suppression of dissent, by framing them as necessary for security or stability.
Additionally, it suppresses opposing viewpoints by portraying diverse perspectives as threats to societal cohesion.
Trump’s exploitation of this fear is evident in his rhetoric, policies, and political strategy, as he invoked fear of “others” — whether the LGBTQI+ community, immigrants, or anyone who did not conform to the ideals of his base — to mobilize his supporters and exacerbate societal divisions.
6: Appeal to a frustrated middle class
The appeal to a frustrated middle class serves multiple purposes. By positioning the leader as the sole solution, it channels economic and social anxieties into unwavering support.
Frustrations are redirected toward scapegoats — such as immigrants, elites, or minorities — fostering unity within the in-group while deepening societal divisions.
This approach also reinforces authoritarian tendencies, as promises of decisive action resonate with those seeking stability and security, even at the expense of democratic principles.
Trump’s messaging and policies consistently tapped into these frustrations, transforming middle-class discontent into a powerful political weapon while entrenching divisions and consolidating his authority.
7: Obsession with a plot
This is a defining trait of Ur-Fascism, where leaders and movements rely on conspiracy theories to explain societal problems, unify supporters, and delegitimize opponents. This mindset portrays the nation or group as under constant threat from hidden enemies — be they internal or external — fostering paranoia and justifying authoritarian control.
Trump’s fixation on endless conspiracy theories — from the Deep State to election fraud — and his relentless labeling of even verified information as “fake news” exemplify a narrative designed to portray himself as a victim of hidden, malevolent forces. This narrative serves to justify extraordinary actions under the guise of combating these supposed threats.
8: Enemies that are at the same time too strong and too weak
This paradoxical view involves portraying enemies as simultaneously omnipotent and vulnerable. They are depicted as existential threats that require aggressive action yet are weak enough to be ultimately defeated, reinforcing the leader’s power and the group’s superiority.
Immigrants and the Southern Border are portrayed as both strong and weak: strong in threatening jobs, safety, and culture by bringing drugs, crime, and gangs like MS-13, yet weak as they are depicted as poor, desperate, and dependent on welfare, burdening society rather than contributing to it.
In this narrative, China is also strong yet very weak. It steals American jobs, manipulates trade, and spreads viruses, but it’s also easy to defeat with tariffs, like a paper tiger that would crumble under American pressure.
The Deep State, the media with their “fake news,” Antifa, and even the Democratic Party are portrayed as enemies that are paradoxically both too strong and too weak.
9: Pacifism is trafficking with the enemy
The idea that pacifism is trafficking with the enemy frames any opposition to militarism, aggression, or conflict as a betrayal. Pacifism is not merely seen as naive or misguided but as an active collaboration with enemies, undermining the nation's strength and unity.
Trump consistently framed peaceful protest, diplomacy, and calls for reform as signs of weakness that emboldened enemies, positioning himself as the defender of “law and order” through militarized responses and aggressive policies.
He equated reluctance to use force or oppose militarization with betrayal, often criticizing opponents and allies alike for perceived disloyalty or softness.
This narrative elevated strength and force as patriotic ideals, while dismissing pacifism, diplomacy, or calls for systemic change as un-American and dangerous.
10: Contempt for the weak
Trump’s rhetoric and policies often glorify strength and dominance while expressing disdain for vulnerability and weakness.
From mocking a reporter with a disability to calling fallen soldiers “losers” and describing certain nations as “shithole countries,” he consistently portrays those perceived as weak or struggling as burdens or failures.
Immigrants, particularly from poorer regions, are dehumanized as threats or dependents, reinforcing a narrative that dismisses the value of those who do not fit into a framework of power or self-reliance.
This contempt extended into his policy decisions, such as efforts to cut funding for social programs like food stamps and Medicaid, which frames reliance on government support as a failure.
His response to crises like Hurricane Maria, where he downplayed the suffering of Puerto Ricans and blamed local leaders, further highlighted his lack of empathy for vulnerable communities.
By promoting strength and ridiculing weakness, Trump’s approach deepened societal divisions and undermined the importance of compassion, equity, and support for marginalized groups.
11: Everybody is educated to become a hero
The notion that everyone should aspire to heroism, defined by loyalty, sacrifice, and alignment with a greater cause, is a recurring theme in Trump’s rhetoric and actions. He frequently frames his supporters as “true patriots” defending American values against perceived enemies like “socialists” or “fake news.”
This narrative reached a peak during the January 6th Capitol riot, where participants, convinced they were acting heroically, sought to overturn what they believed was a stolen election.
Trump often employs militaristic and combative language, framing political and social issues as battles requiring heroic intervention. Phrases like “Save America” on Jan 6, 2021, and his praise for police and military personnel reinforced the idea of heroism tied to authority and force.
At the same time, he celebrated risk and defiance, portraying actions like downplaying COVID-19 or hosting large rallies during the pandemic as courageous resistance to fear. In contrast, he mocked traits he deemed unheroic, such as John McCain’s capture in war or calls for compromise and peaceful protest.
This rhetoric fostered a collective identity rooted in loyalty, strength, and sacrifice, aligning with a vision where heroism is tied to the leader’s agenda rather than individual aspirations.
12: Machismo
Machismo glorifies hypermasculinity, aggression, and dominance, portraying these traits as essential for strength and leadership while dismissing compassion, collaboration, and emotional expression as signs of weakness.
His objectification of women, from the “Access Hollywood” remarks to comments on appearances, further reinforced traditional gender roles, relegating women to subservient positions and valuing them primarily for their looks.
Trump’s aggressive leadership style aligns with machismo ideals, favoring confrontation over diplomacy and praising strongmen like Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong Un for their decisiveness.
Mark Zuckerberg’s (the newest Trump best friend) recent comment that “companies miss masculine energy” echoes this perspective, suggesting that aggression and dominance are superior traits for success while sidelining empathy and collaboration.
13: Selective populism
Selective populism thrives on dividing society into the “true people,” who align with the leader’s vision, and outsiders, who are excluded as enemies or illegitimate.
Trump frequently invokes this dynamic, framing his supporters as “real Americans” embodying hard work, patriotism, and traditional values while dismissing critics, urban elites, and marginalized groups as un-American.
His rhetoric, such as addressing the “forgotten men and women” or branding Democratic-run cities as “hellholes,” reinforced a stark divide between rural and urban America, glorifying one while vilifying the other.
Trump’s selective populism also relied on scapegoating and undermining institutional legitimacy. Immigrants, refugees, and travelers from Muslim-majority countries are framed as threats to the social fabric, while institutions like the media and courts are dismissed as tools of the out-group.
His response to the 2020 election, alleging widespread voter fraud, excluded millions of voters from legitimacy, culminating in the January 6th Capitol riot. By portraying his supporters as defenders of democracy and dismissing others as fraudulent or manipulative, Trump used selective populism to deepen societal divisions, foster loyalty among his base, and marginalize dissent, closely mirroring authoritarian strategies.
14: Newspeak
Newspeak, a concept from Orwell’s 1984 and reflected in authoritarian regimes, manipulate language to limit critical thinking and enforce ideological conformity.
Trump’s communication style mirrors this through simplistic, repetitive phrases like “fake news” and “build the wall,” which distill complex issues into emotionally charged slogans. These phrases discouraged nuanced debate, fostering trust in his narrative while undermining institutions and dissent. Emotional buzzwords like “rigged system” and “enemy of the people” rallied his base by creating a binary divide between supporters and perceived enemies, bypassing rational discussion for loyalty-driven outrage.
Trump’s use of derogatory nicknames, such as “Crooked Hillary” or “Sleepy Joe,” reduced opponents to caricatures, making them easier to vilify.
He distorts meanings to align with his agenda, as seen in labeling Capitol rioters as “patriots” while framing peaceful protestors as threats.
He eroded trust in objective truth through contradictions, such as promoting election fraud claims without evidence and aligning public perception with his narrative. This approach exemplifies the tactics of newspeak, controlling discourse and suppressing critical thought to consolidate power and ideological unity.
Where are we going?
Those who know history, who critically read books and truly understand them, know where we are headed.
Just as fascism once leveraged the new media of its time — films, radio, and print — Trump has harnessed the widely accessible media of our era: social networks.
Musk’s X has always been on his side, Meta has recently aligned, and TikTok praised the President for swiftly removing the ban — ironically, the same ban that Trump had originally championed.
There isn’t a single mainstream social network that isn’t directly or indirectly controlled or held hostage by Trump and his oligarchs.
In the best-case scenario, he’ll further deregulate the market, allowing billionaires to become even richer while the middle class gradually, finally vanishes.
For some reason, there’s a misconception that billionaires care about others. They don’t. They’re billionaires precisely because we, the others, are not wealthy. Money is finite — there’s only so much to go around, and they own almost all of it. And they want more.
I have never feared the return of authoritarian regimes, and perhaps I’m not even afraid that it could happen now, with the new Trump presidency starting with a Roman salute — the one used by fascists and nazists in the last century.
But I can’t help but worry about how we will normalize these behaviors, eroding the rules, hard-won social progress, and recognitions that required countless political and social battles to achieve.
The Eternal Fascism serves as a stark warning about how fascist tendencies can resurface and adapt in various forms, even in modern times. A century ago, few could have foreseen the full horrors fascism would unleash — though some sounded the alarm, they were undoubtedly in the minority.
Today, we have the advantage of history, technology, and global connections. Yet, these tools are meaningless unless we use them to resist, to speak up, and to defend the rights that countless struggles have secured for us.
To all the people and friends in the LGBTQI+ community, immigrants, Southern and Central Americans, and anyone facing countless challenges and discrimination in the years ahead: I stand with you.
