Weaponizing ‘Fascism’: How the Left Turns Debate Into Dictatorship

Paul Riverbank, 1/31/2026Examines how "fascism" is weaponized in modern debates, risking meaningful discourse and democratic vigilance.

Take Antifa. The group started with the intent of standing up against fascism—a word their very name invokes. But their critics now argue, sometimes with no small amount of irony, that Antifa’s tactics resemble those of the foes they claim to oppose. There are reports of protests morphing into melees, property set ablaze, journalists harassed or threatened—scenes replayed endlessly on television. Some say these actions cross from protest into intimidation, echoing tactics of historical regimes that prized ideological purity over open debate. "They pull down statues, burn what stands in their way, and shut down voices they dislike," said one commentator. For those critics, Antifa comes uncomfortably close to embodying the very thing its name denounces.

Yet, there’s never only one narrative at play. Around the same time, images from Minneapolis began circulating: federal agents in inconspicuous vehicles, faces obscured by masks. Residents, caught unawares, described incidents that left two people dead, and dozens more uneasy. Critics, especially on social media, drew historical parallels. Words like “secret police” cropped up, evoking memories not just of Nazi Germany but also Franco's Spain, where authoritarian order ruled for decades. Stories of midnight detentions, absent warrants, and official silence struck some as worrisome—flashes of history not quite buried.

Looking at the twentieth century, some historians argue that it is the story of Francisco Franco—a military man-turned-dictator in Spain, who welded power by forging alliances with conservative pillars: the military, elements in the church, and big business—that offers lessons worth remembering. The Falange, his party, grew by stoking fears of “outsiders” and outsiders’ ideas. Dissent was stifled, opposition muzzled, and daily life pressed into a rigid mold. After nearly forty years, Spain had changed—but so had the tactics of authoritarianism itself.

Is history really repeating itself? Not exactly, but perhaps that’s the wrong question. According to civil rights thinkers like Michelle Alexander, the real worry is that old patterns adapt rather than simply return. In today’s America, struggles over school curricula, reproductive rights, and free speech do not recreate the past, but they sometimes rhyme with it—sometimes more than is comfortable.

Frustratingly, much of the modern debate swirls around who even gets to define fascism. For some, any move to curtail government programs—like slashing food assistance—evokes echoes of historical isolationism and control. Others accuse progressives of projecting their own failings onto the other side. “When they accuse those on the Right, it’s projection," a columnist charged, arguing that the real threat comes from the left’s intolerance for dissent. Around and around the accusations go, often with more energy than analysis.

If the word “fascism” becomes little more than shorthand for “the other side’s worst behavior,” let’s be honest—the term stops being useful and starts being dangerous. It’s a kind of rhetorical inflation; eventually, people tune it all out and miss the warning signs that really matter.

Where does that leave us? A healthy democracy is built not on flinging labels, but on grappling with facts and respecting legitimate disagreement. The tools for avoiding a dangerous slide, now as ever, include protecting speech, safeguarding dissent, and refusing to shut our eyes—no matter who wields the power. The threats, if we are not vigilant, can arise from any direction. And if history has any advice, it's this: stay watchful, question easy answers, and demand more than political slogans from those in charge. The alternative is to let the ghosts of the past find new costumes to wear—and history shows us, they always do.

Debates over the true face of "fascism" have arguably become as American as apple pie—though far less sweet. Lately, the label gets tossed around with abandon, and rarely with agreement. Switch on cable news or scroll social media, and there’s a fair chance you’ll see accusations flying: one camp shouting that its opponents are undermining democracy, the other warning of creeping authoritarianism from across the aisle. In the heat, the meaning of the word itself can get lost.Take Antifa. The group started with the intent of standing up against fascism—a word their very name invokes. But their critics now argue, sometimes with no small amount of irony, that Antifa’s tactics resemble those of the foes they claim to oppose. There are reports of protests morphing into melees, property set ablaze, journalists harassed or threatened—scenes replayed endlessly on television. Some say these actions cross from protest into intimidation, echoing tactics of historical regimes that prized ideological purity over open debate. "They pull down statues, burn what stands in their way, and shut down voices they dislike," said one commentator. For those critics, Antifa comes uncomfortably close to embodying the very thing its name denounces.Yet, there’s never only one narrative at play. Around the same time, images from Minneapolis began circulating: federal agents in inconspicuous vehicles, faces obscured by masks. Residents, caught unawares, described incidents that left two people dead, and dozens more uneasy. Critics, especially on social media, drew historical parallels. Words like “secret police” cropped up, evoking memories not just of Nazi Germany but also Franco's Spain, where authoritarian order ruled for decades. Stories of midnight detentions, absent warrants, and official silence struck some as worrisome—flashes of history not quite buried.Looking at the twentieth century, some historians argue that it is the story of Francisco Franco—a military man-turned-dictator in Spain, who welded power by forging alliances with conservative pillars: the military, elements in the church, and big business—that offers lessons worth remembering. The Falange, his party, grew by stoking fears of “outsiders” and outsiders’ ideas. Dissent was stifled, opposition muzzled, and daily life pressed into a rigid mold. After nearly forty years, Spain had changed—but so had the tactics of authoritarianism itself.Is history really repeating itself? Not exactly, but perhaps that’s the wrong question. According to civil rights thinkers like Michelle Alexander, the real worry is that old patterns adapt rather than simply return. In today’s America, struggles over school curricula, reproductive rights, and free speech do not recreate the past, but they sometimes rhyme with it—sometimes more than is comfortable.Frustratingly, much of the modern debate swirls around who even gets to define fascism. For some, any move to curtail government programs—like slashing food assistance—evokes echoes of historical isolationism and control. Others accuse progressives of projecting their own failings onto the other side. “When they accuse those on the Right, it’s projection," a columnist charged, arguing that the real threat comes from the left’s intolerance for dissent. Around and around the accusations go, often with more energy than analysis.If the word “fascism” becomes little more than shorthand for “the other side’s worst behavior,” let’s be honest—the term stops being useful and starts being dangerous. It’s a kind of rhetorical inflation; eventually, people tune it all out and miss the warning signs that really matter.Where does that leave us? A healthy democracy is built not on flinging labels, but on grappling with facts and respecting legitimate disagreement. The tools for avoiding a dangerous slide, now as ever, include protecting speech, safeguarding dissent, and refusing to shut our eyes—no matter who wields the power. The threats, if we are not vigilant, can arise from any direction. And if history has any advice, it's this: stay watchful, question easy answers, and demand more than political slogans from those in charge. The alternative is to let the ghosts of the past find new costumes to wear—and history shows us, they always do.