What Americans Can Learn From Other Civil Activism Movements Against Authoritarian Regimes

AUTHORS:

JOHN SHATTUCK

PROFESSOR OF PRACTICE IN

DIPLOMACY, FLETCHER SCHOOL 

OF LAW & DIPLOMACY, TUFTS UNIVERSITY

OLIVER KAPLAN

ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF INTERNATIONAL

STUDIES, UNIVERSITY OF DENVER

On Feb. 24, The Conversation hosted a webinar titled, “What Americans can learn from other nonviolent civil activism movements.”

Executive editor and general manager Beth Daley interviewed John Shattuck, professor of practice at The Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University, and Oliver Kaplan, associate professor at Josef Korbel School of Global and Public Affairs at the University of Denver and a visiting scholar at Stanford University.

Shattuck is the former president of Central European University in Hungary, where he defended academic freedom against a rising authoritarian government. Kaplan is the author of “Resisting War: How Communities Protect Themselves.” This interview has been condensed and edited for print.

Beth Daley: What is an authoritarian regime, and what are their characteristics?

John Shattuck: The authoritarian, often referred to as a “king,” is the ideal role from the point of view of the king, but certainly not from the point of view of the people. Authoritarian characteristics include centralized unlimited power, the opposite of democracy; no accountability and no rule of law; no independent courts; no checks and balances on how the king operates; rule by fear and coercion, and when necessary, in order to carry out the king’s orders, rule by by force. There are no individual rights or civil liberties except those the king decides to allow those who are loyal to him to have, at least until he decides to take them away.

That’s a nutshell informal description of an authoritarian regime. A special threat today is that an authoritarian can emerge from a democratic election, and, indeed, a democratic election can be used to turn a weak democracy into an authoritarian regime. But when this happens, it opens the door to challenge the authoritarian in a subsequent election if civic activism can defend the electoral process by which the authoritarian was elected.

BD: What are we seeing and not seeing in the U.S. that other countries have gone through in terms of authoritarian government?

Oliver Kaplan: I think we are heading toward an autocracy, if not there already. In their 2026 report, the Varieties of Democracy Project writes that the U.S. is no longer a liberal democracy and is moving into “competitive authoritarianism,” marked by executive overreach and erosion of judicial and legislative checks. The report notes that U.S. democracy is being dismantled at a speed that is “unprecedented in modern history.”

We are seeing shifts in terms of concentration of power to the executive branch and a disregard of the rule of law, things like ignoring court orders and difficulty with holding the executive branch accountable. We are also seeing the militarization of law enforcement, monitoring of U.S. citizens, and what some refer to as the dual state – that the state is working for some people while causing more challenges for or oppressing other people.

One of the things we’re not seeing at full force yet is a complete shutdown of civic space. We’re able to hold this kind of conversation, and people are still able to dialogue and go out on the street. There are some efforts at curtailing free speech, and I think there’s some self-censorship possibly happening. But there’s still this open space and a powerful mass movement growing in this country.

BD: John, you were on the front lines, particularly in Hungary as the head of Central European University. What did you see there that has parallels today to the U.S.?

JS: There’s certainly a parallel between Hungary and the U.S., even though the countries are very different in size, history and background. What I saw in Hungary when I became president of Central European University in 2009 was a weak, new democracy that was only established in 1990 after 70 years of fascism and communism.

I was in Hungary from 2009 to 2016 and, despite the differences, I could begin to see some parallels. Many people had grievances in Hungary about how their economy was operating, particularly after the global financial crisis that affected Hungary more than any other Eastern European country. Then there was an urban-rural divide, the urban elite versus the rural majority in the country.

Along came a cynical populist-nationalist politician, Viktor Orbán. Orban started manipulating these grievances, and did so to significantly divide Hungarian society. He attacked many of the institutions of democracy, which were increasingly unpopular because of people’s grievances. He went after elites, and foreigners, and migrants, and the media. And he blamed all of them for the country’s problems. He then was able to ride these grievances into office.

Once in office, Orban amended the constitution and laws relating to the parliament. He undermined the independence of the media and the judiciary so as to centralize power. All of this happened while I was running an international university in Budapest, which remained independent because it received no funding from the Hungarian government. We were able to resist the increasingly authoritarian regime over issues of academic freedom. The government tried to shut down our programs of migration studies and gender studies, and tried to censor aspects of our history department.

These authoritarian attacks are similar to what we’ve seen happening in the U.S., and in fact, Viktor Orban was greatly admired by Donald Trump, and a lot of the playbook that Orban has followed was mirrored in Project 2025 in the U.S. under Trump.

BD: How do communities respond in different ways to authoritarian regimes?

OK: Pro-democracy movements and protection types of movements at the local level often co-occur. For example, in Colombia there have been various leftist movements and political parties that have pushed for greater democratic opening while communities mobilize to keep people safe and help them cope with repressive conditions. In places like Chile, El Salvador and Guatemala, communities built trust and support networks to provide aid, such as for people who needed food assistance. This provides space to independently operate and preserve the community.

The U.S. has parallels, such as innovating early warning networks to get advance notice of risks and threats, by communicating using the Signal app. In the Democratic Republic of Congo, villages set up radio networks, and in Ukraine they have sophisticated early warning networks to get word of airstrikes and drone attacks.

Fact-finding and countering stigma are important, and in the U.S. we’re seeing that in the form of the video recording and publicizing of harmful actions. This has played out similarly in Syria with fact-finding to protect nongovernment organizations.

There’s also accompaniment where outside actors come in to provide support to communities. Around the world, church organizations play important accompaniment roles. We’re seeing clergy in the U.S. step up and visit places that are at risk.

And then, there are protests, the most visible kind of action. In Minnesota, we’ve seen communities actually setting up community barricades, which has also happened in Mexico, Colombia and Northern Ireland. Communicating the nonviolent nature of these movements is important to avoid any pretext for additional crackdowns.

I think Americans have been taking similar actions to places around the world in part because there are some similar background conditions: repression and strong social capital networks. Those two things come together to produce these strategies.

BD: Could you speak more about the need to build a clear narrative and a positive one?

JS: There are two basic rules for how to resist authoritarianism that I’ve learned from experience: Build a diverse coalition and develop a unifying theme. You need a diverse coalition in order to appeal to a broad range of the public, and in order to do that, you need agreement on the goal and values of what you’re trying to accomplish. You need a clear and unifying narrative. The narrative often involves economic issues and issues of corruption, since there’s often a great deal of corruption in authoritarian regimes.

Hungary will have its next parliamentary election in April in which Orban will seek his fifth term as prime minister. The opposition has developed a broad coalition and a unifying theme, while Orban is using the centralized instruments of government and media that he controls to try to manipulate public opinion. The opposition coalition is headed by Peter Magyar, who was once a major supporter of Orban’s government. Magyar’s name can be magical in Hungary – sort of like a “Joe America” in the U.S.

With Magyar as its head, the opposition is aiming to peel off supporters of the regime. It’s campaigning on economic grounds, with a positive message and on moderate terms. And most importantly, it includes parties from the left, right and center.

Poland has succeeded in doing what the Hungarian opposition is attempting. It managed to vote out an authoritarian government by putting together a broad coalition to defend the independence of the Polish judiciary. That became a coalition to elect parliamentarians in 2023, and that succeeded in changing the government.

BD: How important is the preexisting social fabric of a community to the success of a protest movement?

JS: It’s important, but complicated. Hungary had a very weak civil society after 70 years of totalitarian fascism and communism. When I was there, the very word to “volunteer,” which we think of as the essence of community action and service, was seen to be a bad word in Hungarian because it was closely associated with collaborating with the regime.

In the U.S., we’re the opposite in a sense, although the U.S. is now slipping on this. We have a long history of volunteerism, we have all these civil society organizations, we have a tradition of barn raising, people getting together with their neighbors and doing things in their communities. This is very much a part of the American spirit and a core value.

But today, I would say a combination of consumerism and economic individualism coming out of decades of economic deregulation has caused our civil society to fray. But the authoritarian challenge that we face now, and the way in which we are beginning to respond to it, is in fact bringing communities back together again. I think what happened in Minneapolis is an example of that. And this may reflect a growing capacity to resist an authoritarian regime.

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Why The ‘Streets Of Minneapolis’ Have Echoed With Public Support – Unlike The Campus Of Kent State In 1970

Ohio National Guardsmen on the Kent State University campus prepare to disperse student protesters on May 4, 1970. Troops later opened fire on students, killing four. Howard Ruffner/Getty Images

BY GREGORY P. MAGARIAN

THOMAS AND KAROLE GREEN

PROFESSOR OF LAW, WASHINGTON 

UNIVERSITY IN ST. LOUIS

The president announces an aggressive, controversial policy. Large groups of protesters take to the streets. Government agents open fire and kill protesters.

All of these events, familiar from Minneapolis in 2026, also played out at Ohio’s Kent State University in 1970. In my academic writing about the First Amendment, I have described Kent State as a key moment when the government silenced free speech.

In Minneapolis, free speech has weathered the crisis better, as seen in the protests themselves, the public’s responses – and even the protest songs the two events inspired.

Protests and shootings, then and now

In 1970, President Richard Nixon announced he had expanded the Vietnam War by bombing Cambodia. Student anti-war protests, already fervent, intensified.

In Ohio, Gov. James Rhodes deployed the National Guard to quell protests at Kent State University. Monday, May 4, saw a large midday protest on the main campus commons. Students exercised their First Amendment rights by chanting and shouting at the Guard troops, who dispersed protesters with tear gas before regrouping on a nearby hill.

With the nearest remaining protesters 20 yards from the Guard troops and most more than 60 yards away, 28 guardsmen inexplicably fired on students, killing four students and wounding nine others.

After the killings, the government sought to shift blame to the slain students. Nixon stated: “When dissent turns to violence, it invites tragedy.”

Minneapolis in 2026 presents vivid parallels.

As part of a sweeping campaign to deport undocumented immigrants, President Donald Trump in early January 2026 deployed armed U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement and Customs and Border Protection agents to Minneapolis.

With the nearest remaining protesters 20 yards from the Guard troops and most more than 60 yards away, 28 guardsmen inexplicably fired on students, killing four students and wounding nine others.

After the killings, the government sought to shift blame to the slain students. Nixon stated: “When dissent turns to violence, it invites tragedy.”

Minneapolis in 2026 presents vivid parallels.

As part of a sweeping campaign to deport undocumented immigrants, President Donald Trump in early January 2026 deployed armed U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement and Customs and Border Protection agents to Minneapolis.

Many residents protested, exercising their First Amendment rights by using smartphones and whistles to record and call out what they saw as ICE and CBP abuses. On Jan. 7, 2026, an ICE agent shot and killed activist Renee Good in her car. On Jan. 24, two CBP agents shot and killed protester Alex Pretti on the street.

The government sought to blame Good and Pretti for their own killings.

Different public reactions

After Kent State, amid bitter conservative opposition to student protesters, most Americans blamed the fallen students for their deaths. When students in New York City protested the Kent State shootings, construction workers attacked and beat the students in what became known as the “hard hat riot.” Afterward, Nixon hosted construction union leaders at the White House, where they gave him an honorary hard hat.

In contrast, most Americans believe the Trump administration has used excessive force in Minneapolis. Majorities both oppose the federal agents’ actions against protesters and approve of protesting and recording the agents.

The public response to Minneapolis has made a difference. The Trump administration has announced an end to its immigration crackdown in the Twin Cities. Trump has backed off attacks on Good and Pretti. Congressional opposition to ICE funding has grown. Overall public support for Trump and his policies has fallen.

Free speech in protests, recordings and songs

What has caused people to view the killings in Minneapolis so differently from Kent State? One big factor, I believe, is how free speech has shaped the public response.

The Minneapolis protests themselves have sent the public a more focused message than what emerged from the student protests against the Vietnam War.

Anti-war protests in 1970 targeted military action on the other side of the world. Organizers had to plan and coordinate through in-person meetings and word of mouth. Student protesters needed the institutional news media to convey their views to the public.

In contrast, the anti-ICE protests in Minneapolis target government action at the protesters’ doorsteps. Organizers can use local networks and social media to plan, coordinate and communicate directly with the public. The protests have succeeded in deepening public opposition to ICE.

In addition, the American people have witnessed the Minneapolis shootings.

Kent State produced a famous photograph of a surviving student’s anguish but only hazy, chaotic video of the shootings.

In contrast, widely circulated video evidence showed the Minneapolis killings in horrifying detail. Within days of each shooting, news organizations had compiled detailed visual timelines, often based on recordings by protesters and observers, that sharply contradicted government accounts of what happened to Good and Pretti.

Finally, consider two popular protest songs that emerged from Kent State and Minneapolis: Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young’s “Ohio” and Bruce Springsteen’s “Streets of Minneapolis.”

Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young recorded, pressed and released “Ohio” with remarkable speed for 1970. The vinyl single reached record stores and radio stations on June 4, a month after the Kent State shootings. The song peaked at No. 14 on the Billboard chart two months later.

Neil Young’s lyrics described the Kent State events in mythic terms, warning of “tin soldiers” and telling young Americans: “We’re finally on our own.” Young did not describe the shootings in detail. The song does not name Kent State, the National Guard or the fallen students. Instead, it presents the events as symbolic of a broader generational conflict over the Vietnam War.

Springsteen released “Streets of Minneapolis” on Jan. 28, 2026 – just four days after CBP agents killed Pretti. Two days later, the song topped streaming charts worldwide.

The internet and social media let Springsteen document Minneapolis, almost in real time, for a mass audience. Springsteen’s lyrics balance symbolism with specificity, naming not just “King Trump” but also victims Pretti and Good, key Trump officials Stephen Miller and Kristi Noem, main Minneapolis artery Nicollet Avenue, and the protesters’ “whistles and phones,” before fading on a chant of “ICE out!”

Critics offer compelling arguments that 21st-century mass communication degrades social relationships, elections and culture. In Minneapolis, disinformation has muddied crucial facts about the protests and killings.

At the same time, Minneapolis has shown how networked communication can promote free speech. Through focused protests, recordings of government action, and viral popular culture, today’s public can get fuller, clearer information to help critically assess government actions.

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What Franco’s Fascist Regime In Spain Can Teach Us About Today’s America

Gen. Francisco Franco, center, commander in the south, visits the headquarters of the northern front in Burgos, Spain, on Aug. 19, 1936, during the country’s civil war. Imagno/Getty Images

BY RACHELLE WILSON TOLLEMAR

ADJUNCT PROFESSOR OF SPANISH,

UNIVERSITY OF ST. THOMAS

Minneapolis residents say they feel besieged under what some are calling a fascist occupation. Thousands of Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents have been swarming a city whose vast majority in 2024 did not vote for Donald Trump – or for a paramilitary roundup of its diverse population.

Tragically, two residents have been killed by federal agents. Consequently, social media is aflame with comparisons of Trump’s immigration enforcers to Hitler’s Gestapo.

While comparisons to Hitler’s fascist regime are becoming common, I’d argue that it may be even more fitting to compare the present moment to a less-remembered but longer-lasting fascist regime: that of Francisco Franco, dictator of Spain from 1936 until his death in 1975.

In 2016, critics warned that Trump’s campaign rhetoric was grounded in textbook fascism, exhibiting signs such as racism, sexism and misogyny, nationalism, propaganda and more. In return, critics were met with intense backlash, accused of being hysterical or overly dramatic.

Now, even normally sober voices are sounding the alarm that America may be falling to fascist rule.

As a scholar of Spanish culture, I, too, see troubling parallels between Franco’s Spain and Trump’s America.

Putting them side by side, I believe, provides insightful tools that are needed to understand the magnitude of what’s at risk today.

Franco’s rise and reign

The Falange party started off as a a small extremist party on the margins of Spanish society, a society deeply troubled with political and economic instability. The party primarily preached a radical nationalism, a highly exclusive way to be and act Spanish. Traditional gender roles, monolingualism and Catholicism rallied people by offering absolutist comfort during uncertain times. Quickly, the Falange grew in power and prevalence until, ultimately, it moved mainstream.

By 1936, the party had garnered enough support from the Catholic Church, the military, and wealthy landowners and businessmen that a sizable amount of the population accepted Gen. Francisco Franco’s coup d'etat: a military crusade of sorts that sought to stop the perceived anarchy of liberals living in godless cities. His slogan, “¡Una, Grande, Libre!,” or “one, great, free,” mobilized people who shared the Falange’s anxieties.

Like the Falange, MAGA, the wing of the U.S. Republican Party named after Trump’s slogan “Make America Great Again,” repeatedly vilifies the left, who mostly live in cities, as godless anarchists who live like vermin.

Once in power, the Francoist regime commissioned a secret police force, the Political-Social Brigade – known as the BPS – to “clean up house.” The BPS was charged with suppressing or killing any political, social, cultural or linguistic dissidents.

Weakening resistance

Franco not only weaponized the military but also proverbially enlisted the Catholic Church. He colluded with the clergy to convince parishioners, especially women, of their divine duty to multiply, instill nationalist Catholic values in their children, and thus reproduce ideological replicas of both the state and the church. From the pulpit, homemakers were extolled as “ángeles del hogar” and “heroínas de la patria,” or “angels of the home” and “heroines of the homeland.”

Together, Franco and the church constructed consent for social restrictions, including outlawing or criminalizing abortion, contraception, divorce, work by women and other women’s rights, along with even tolerating uxoricide, or the killing of wives, for their perceived sexual transgressions.

Some scholars contend that the repealing of women’s reproductive rights is the first step away from a fully democratic society. For this reason and more, many are concerned about the U.S. Supreme Court’s recent overturning of Roe v. Wade.

The #tradwife social media trend involves far-right platforms echoing Francoist-style ideologies of submission, restriction, dependence and white male dominance. One of TikTok’s most popular tradwife influencers, for instance, posted that “there is no higher calling than being a wife and a mother for a woman.” She also questioned young women attending college and rebuked, on air, wives who deny their husbands sexual intimacy.

Weakening the economy

Economically, Franco implemented autarkic policies, a system of limited trade designed to isolate Spain and protect it from anti-Spanish influences. He utilized high tariffs, strict quotas, border controls and currency manipulation, effectively impoverishing the nation and vastly enriching himself and his cronies.

These policies flew under the motto “¡Arriba España!,” or “Up Spain.” They nearly immediately triggered more than a decade of suffering known as the “hunger years.” An estimated 200,000 Spaniards died from famine and disease.

Under the slogan “America First” – Trump’s mutable but aggressive tariff regime – the $1 billion or more in personal wealth he’s accumulated while in office, along with his repeated attempts to cut nutrition benefits in blue states and his administration’s anti-vaccine policies may appear to be disconnected. But together, they galvanize an autarkic strategy that threatens to debilitate the country’s health.

Weakening the mind

Franco’s dictatorship systematically purged, exiled and repressed the country’s intellectual class. Many were forced to emigrate. Those who stayed in the country, such as the artist Joan Miró, were forced to bury their messages deeply within symbols and metaphor to evade censorship.

Currently in the U.S., banned books, banned words and phrases, and the slashing of academic and research funding across disciplines are causing the U.S. to experience “brain drain,” an exodus of members of the nation’s highly educated and skilled classes.

Furthermore, Franco conjoined the church, the state and education into one. I am tracking analogous moves in the U.S. The conservative group Turning Point USA has an educational division whose goal is to ‘reclaim" K-12 curriculum with white Christian nationalism.

Ongoing legislation that mandates public classrooms to display the Ten Commandments similarly violates religious freedom guarantees ratified in the constitution.

Drawing comparisons

Trump has frequently expressed admiration for contemporary dictators and last week stated that “sometimes you need a dictator.”

It is true that his tactics do not perfectly mirror Francoism or any other past fascist regime. But the work of civil rights scholar Michelle Alexander reminds us that systems of control do not disappear. They morph, evolve and adapt to sneak into modern contexts in less detectable ways. I see fascism like this.

Consider some of the recent activities in Minneapolis, and ask how they would be described if they were taking place in any other country.

Unidentified masked individuals in unmarked cars are forcibly entering homes without judicial warrants. These agents are killing, shooting and roughing up people, sometimes while handcuffed. They are tear-gassing peaceful protesters, assaulting and killing legal observers, and throwing flash grenades at bystanders. They are disappearing people of color, including four Native Americans and a toddler as young as 2, shipping them off to detention centers where allegations of abuse, neglect, sexual assault and even homicide are now frequent.

Government officials have spun deceptive narratives, or worse, lied about the administration’s actions.

In the wake of the public and political backlash following the killing of Alex Pretti, Trump signaled he would reduce immigration enforcement operations] in Minneapolis, only to turn around and have Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth authorize the use of an old military base near St. Paul, suggesting potential escalation, not de-escalation. Saying one thing while doing the opposite is a classic fascist trick warned about in history and literature alike.

The world has seen these tactics before. History shows the precedent and then supplies the bad ending. Comparing past Francoism to present Trumpism connects the past to the present and warns us about what could come.

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When It Comes To Neo-Nazis, We Can’t Legislate Our Way To Safety

Neo-Nazi leader Thomas Sewell (centre) speaks to media outside court. Con Chronis/AAP

BY GREG BARTON

CHAIR IN GLOBAL ISLAMIC POLITICS,

ALFRED DEAKIN INSTITUTE FOR

CITENZENSHIP AND GLOBALIZATION,

DEAKIN UNIVERSITY

What sort of legislation do we need to stop neo-Nazis marching through our streets and threatening our social cohesion?

It certainly makes sense to consider incremental changes such as banning the Nazi swastika and the wearing of full-face masks when protesting.

But really, the question is not what sort of legislation we need. The question is what sort of legislature - sort of parliament - will keep us safe?

It is reasonable to adjust laws to respond to changing threats, but we need to recognise we can’t legislate our way to safety. Australia already has some of the most extensive counterterrorism legislation in the world. Any changes we make now will bring – at best – incremental gains. And nothing we do is without cost and risk. If we succumb to the temptation to broaden the meaning of terrorism in the law, we will almost certainly weaken our counterterrorism apparatus and discredit it in the process.

Lessons from Germany

Instead of focusing on improving legislation, our focus needs to be on strengthening democracy. The experience of two leading Western democracies serve as salient reminders of the challenge we’re facing.

Probably no Western democracy has done more to counter Nazi and neo-Nazi ideas and their expression than modern Germany. If ever tighter legislation was going to keep us safe from the rise of fascism, it would have done so in Germany.

Sadly, that is not the case. Germany faces a massive problem of neo-Nazi recruitment in the ranks of the uniformed services and across German society, despite all the carefully constructed barriers against it.

Even more worrying is the rise of support for far-right politics in Germany. Every year the extremist Alternative Für Deutschland (AfD) party steadily gains ground, and were it not for the “firewall” designed to keep parties such as the AfD out of governing coalitions, the strength of its popular support would surely have earned it a place in government by now.

In fact, it is looking increasingly difficult to see how AfD can be kept out of power in Germany. And while it denies its clear neo-Nazi heritage, the party openly campaigns on ideas associated with white supremacists and “Germany for Germans”.

An alternative: strengthening democracy

Even more worrying than the case of Germany is that of the United States and the great Republican elephant in the room. In his first term as president, Donald Trump’s administration was divided and reluctant to implement his radical agenda. But in his second presidency, a very different administration team is working with a worrying sense of sycophantic purpose to bring about a radical reinvention of US politics and the end of US democracy as we have known it.

The Republican Party in Congress no longer works to block the president’s radical agenda. Instead, we are witnessing the implementation at scale and at a rapid pace of the radical Project 2025 plans that were carefully drawn up before Trump’s remarkable electoral victory.

The fact that court after court has declared his actions illegal does little to impede the project. The flood-the-zone strategy is clearly working and the guardrails of tradition and public expectation have shown themselves to be disturbingly weak or non-existent.

The nature of this radical agenda is seen most sharply in the ideas, and now fully implemented policy, of Trump’s homeland security advisor Stephen Miller. He has been behind the expansion and aggressive implementation of the Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) campaign of arrest and deportation. It may not be legal for unidentified, masked ICE officers to profile Latino and other brown Americans then violently apprehend them and bundle them into unmarked vans, and disappear them to remote detention sites for weeks at a time. But that is exactly what ICE is doing.

It would be inaccurate to call Miller a neo-Nazi. But what is not debatable is that he is openly supporting, and implementing, white supremacist “great replacement” ideas without any sense of shame or any level of accountability. Trump’s so-called Big Beautiful Bill expanded the ICE budget to the point it is larger than all but a few of the world’s national militaries.

The campaigning ahead of the 2025 federal elections in Australia saw some political actors promoting a narrative based on the politics of fear. They were spectacularly unsuccessful, and that that should give us confidence in our democratic system.

But we cannot afford to take it for granted that we will not quickly face the sort of problems currently seen in Germany and the US. Australia has a long history of institutionalised racism, from the frontier wars through the decades of the white Australia policy, and the demonising of asylum seekers arriving by boat.

At the same time our social cohesion holds strong. Each week, thousands take to the street to protest peacefully. So far, the extremist elements who would seek to take advantage of this have gained little traction.

As ugly and pathetic as the sight of neo-Nazis grandstanding in public places is, we must not let their attention-seeking define our framing of the problem. In an open society, there will always be fringe elements saying and doing things that lie on the very edge of the law and that challenge mainstream sensibilities.

In the weeks before the recent anti-immigration marches, Australians of colour experienced the chilling fear that can come from these kinds of political stunts.

But the real risk in Australia comes not from the shrill voices of fascist extremists prancing in public places. Rather, it comes from a slide into the wholesale demonising of migrants in our public discourse. If we can address this, not only will we see fewer Australians drawn to the ugly intolerance and open racism of neo-Nazism, we will be doing the one thing that can really make us safer: strengthening our democracy.

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Roman Empire And The Fall Of Nero Offer Possible Lessons For Trump About The Cost Of Self-Isolation

A marble statue of Nero on loan from the Louvre in Paris is seen at the Landesmuseum in Germany in 2016. Harald Tittel/Picture Alliance via Getty Images

BY KIRK FREUDENBURG

BROOKS AND SUZANNE RAGEN

PROFESSOR OF CLASSICS,

YALE UNIVERSITY

President Donald Trump’s first term saw a record-high rate of turnover among his Cabinet members and chief advisers. Trump’s second term has, to date, seen far fewer Cabinet departures.

But some political commentators have observed that the president this time around has primarily appointed loyal advisers who will not challenge him.

As Thomas Friedman pointed out in The New York Times on June 3, 2025, “In Trump I, the president surrounded himself with some people of weight who could act as buffers. In Trump II, he has surrounded himself only with sycophants who act like amplifiers.”

As a scholar of Greco-Roman antiquity, I have spent many years studying the demise of truth-telling in periods of political upheaval. Spanning the period from 27 B.C.E. to 476 C.E., the Roman Empire still offers insights into what happens to political leaders when they interpret possibly helpful advice as dissent.

Particularly telling is the case of Nero, Rome’s emperor from 54 to 68 C.E., who responded to a disastrous fire in 64 with extreme cruelty and self-worship that did nothing to help desperate citizens.

Suppressing honest advice under Nero

Rome’s first emperor, Augustus, established a handpicked circle of advisers – called the consilium principis in Latin, meaning emperor’s council – to give a republican look to his autocratic regime. Augustus became the emperor of Rome in 27 B.C.E. and ruled over the empire, which stretched from Europe and North Africa to the Middle East at its peak, until his death in 14 C.E.

Augustus wanted to hear what others thought about the empire’s needs and his policies. At least some of Augustus’ advisers were bold enough to assert themselves and risk incurring his displeasure. Some, such as Cornelius Gallus, paid for their boldness with their own lives, while others, such as Cilnius Maecenas, managed to push their political agendas in softer ways that allowed them to maintain their influence.

But the Roman emperors who came after Augustus were either less skilled at maintaining a republican facade, or less interested in doing so.

Nero was the last of the emperors from the noble Julio-Claudian dynasty in ancient Rome at its peak of power. Historians who describe Nero’s rise and fall from power describe the first five years of his reign, or the quinquennium neronis in Latin, as a period of relative calm and prosperity for the empire.

Because Nero was just 16 years old when he acceded to power, he was assigned advisers to guide his policies. Their opinions carried significant weight.

But five years into his reign, chafing at their continued oversight, Nero began to purge these advisers from his life, via execution, forced suicide and exile.

Nero instead collected a small cadre of self-interested enablers who derived power for themselves by encouraging their leader’s delusions, such as his desire to project himself as the incarnation of the sun god, Apollo.

The single most unspeakably corrupt and nefarious of these preferred advisers was Ofonius Tigellinus. Tigellinus had caught Nero’s eye early in 62 by urging the senate to convict a Roman magistrate of treason for having composed poems that he deemed insulting to the emperor. Later that year, Tigellinus was appointed the head of the emperor’s personal army.

As praetorian prefect, Tigellinus was charged not only with protecting Nero from physical harm, but also with crafting and guarding the leader’s public image. Tigellinus urged Nero to stage an ongoing series of public spectacles – like theatrical performances and athletic competitions – that featured him as a divine ruler and a god on Earth.

Up in flames

It was likely at Tigellinus’ urging that, in the aftermath of the great fire of 64 that raged for six days in Rome, Nero staged an exorbitant garden party where Christians were soaked in flammable oils and lit as human torches to illuminate a decadent late-night feast.

But, try as he might, Nero couldn’t outrun the fire and its aftermath by indulging in clever cruelties. Huge swathes of the city had been razed by the fire. Thousands of citizens lacked clothing. They were hungry, displaced and homeless.

For answers, the fire’s countless victims looked to Nero, their earthly Apollo, for help. But they did not encounter a sympathetic leader sweeping in to address their needs. Instead, they found a man desperate to place blame on others – in this case, foreigners from the east.

In order to squelch rumors that Nero had lit the fire, Tigellinus’ army unit rounded up Christians, falsely blamed them for starting the fire and executed them.

But this move just showcased Nero’s failure to focus on the dire needs of the poor, the very people who worshipped him. Instead, he sought to rise above the ashes by doubling down on his divine pretensions.

Once the rubble left by the fire was cleared away, Nero built a magnificent new home for himself. This palace, called the domus aurea in Latin, meaning house of gold, covered more than 120 acres in the heart of Rome. It featured spectacular water fountains, elaborate works of art and, standing tall in the entryway, a 120-foot bronze statue of Nero as the sun god, Apollo.

No truth-teller was there to tell Nero that maybe he shouldn’t rub his people’s noses in their suffering.

Nero’s delusional response to the fire did not put an end to his career, but it did much to hasten its end.

Less than four years later, with armies bearing down on the city, Nero committed suicide. Rome tumbled into civil war.

Self-worship in the Trump era

Trump has long expressed a desire to have his face carved on Mount Rushmore, a national memorial in South Dakota that features the likenesses of legendary American presidents George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson and Theodore Roosevelt.

This dream became a bit closer to reality when Tennessee Representative Andy Ogles in July 2025 urged the Department of the Interior to explore adding Trump’s image to Mount Rushmore – even though such an addition might not be possible because of geological issues.
Trump’s critics have long noted the president’s propensity to focus on himself and his own greatness and power, rather than the needs of citizens.

As far away as the Roman Empire might seem, Nero’s rise and fall offers a lesson in what can happen when honest criticism of a political leader is sidelined in favor of idolatry.

Instead of honest solutions to real problems, what Romans got was a colossal statue that portrayed their leader as a god on Earth.

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