Damn, that was a compelling read. When I clicked on the link and saw it was from 1941, I felt a grim resolve to read it in full, because when people post decades old pieces on fascism, it always hits hard (like that Sartre bit about antisemitism that gets shared quite often).
Reading through this piece was a curious feeling, because I was wondering which of the people at this party I might be. Certainly not Mr A, because I am descended from no-one great. I certainly didn’t go to the same school as any Mr A, so I’m also not Mr B. With a certain sense of dread, I considered that maybe I’m Mr C, given that I also started out very poor and worked my way up to where I am (I’m the first in my family to go to university, for example). I concluded that whereas Mr C’s battle against class has left him cold and hard, I have found myself becoming warmer as the years go on.
I was thinking like this throughout most of the piece, perversely waiting for someone I will never meet to tell me whether or not I’m the kind of person who becomes a Nazi. In the end, none of the archetypes described seem to fit me. It turns out that although fascism today functions remarkably similarly to how it did then, the world itself is different enough that the archetypes today don’t map onto the past.
Damn, that was a compelling read. When I clicked on the link and saw it was from 1941, I felt a grim resolve to read it in full, because when people post decades old pieces on fascism, it always hits hard (like that Sartre bit about antisemitism that gets shared quite often).
Reading through this piece was a curious feeling, because I was wondering which of the people at this party I might be. Certainly not Mr A, because I am descended from no-one great. I certainly didn’t go to the same school as any Mr A, so I’m also not Mr B. With a certain sense of dread, I considered that maybe I’m Mr C, given that I also started out very poor and worked my way up to where I am (I’m the first in my family to go to university, for example). I concluded that whereas Mr C’s battle against class has left him cold and hard, I have found myself becoming warmer as the years go on.
I was thinking like this throughout most of the piece, perversely waiting for someone I will never meet to tell me whether or not I’m the kind of person who becomes a Nazi. In the end, none of the archetypes described seem to fit me. It turns out that although fascism today functions remarkably similarly to how it did then, the world itself is different enough that the archetypes today don’t map onto the past.