When I was growing up, I was an innocent floundering in a sea of bigotry — even in supposedly liberal New York, where I was born and spent the first half of my life. My father, a German immigrant, openly admired Hitler’s achievements — the autobahn, the trains — despite having become a citizen and serving in North Africa and India during the war. About the Holocaust he said little, except perhaps to suggest it couldn’t have happened. But it always made him subdued. My mother was silent on the entire issue. Her family came to the US before the Depression took firm hold in Germany, so she probably couldn’t relate to Hitler’s promises. My father came years later, in its depths, when a loaf of bread cost millions of marks and fascists and communists were already clashing in the streets.
Around me, all minorities were insulted. My father and his soccer club buddies used every ethnic slur I’d ever heard, which often struck me as odd because they were supposedly friends with so many Irish, Italians, Poles, and Jews (but not African-Americans). I didn’t get it. My neighborhood friends were Irish, Cuban, and Czech, some of my good school friends were Jewish, and my best friend overall was Italian. If I had no black friends, it was because there were very few in my school (because my school was in a predominantly white neighborhood) and we just didn’t move in the same circles. There was a black kid in my sophomore English class, but I only thought of him as the football team’s captain and quarterback. Yes — he was the team captain. In my school, the few black students were not shunned and didn’t feel the need to isolate themselves. Hooray for us!
So I had these positive experiences going for me to help offset the influences of all my elders — except my maternal grandmother’s, who was also a German immigrant. But she was a Quaker, and if at a very young age I ever channeled my father and used the N-word, she’d give it to me with a wooden spoon and say, “Ach, Robert — dey are colored people. Never say dat.” In those days, it was okay to say Negroes, but she wouldn’t tolerate even that, much less the N-word.
As the years went by and my knowledge of German history after WWI deepened, I came to despise my heritage and perhaps felt the same shame as the generations of Germans born during and after WWII. How could some people be so inhumane to others, and how could so many people turn their backs on this inhumanity? I was sickened even by the anti-Jewish rhetoric as the fascists rose to power and the brutality in the streets, and how the people bought into it. The end result of it all, the Holocaust, continues to make me weep.
Which is why I’m ultra-sensitive to the right-wing scapegoating that continues in the US today. Granted it’s no longer Jews who are the targets, but in my lifetime it’s been blacks, Hispanics, gays, welfare queens, liberals, anyone different, who are blamed for the nation’s ills. No, today’s right probably will never resort to a new holocaust — none among them are that crazy. But some lessons have been learned. When times are tough, even the best of us will buy into the blame game played by those who will do anything to gain power.
It is naïve to suggest that there’s no comparison between today’s American right wing and the German fascists of the 1930s. It shows up in campaign rhetoric, in opposition to safety net programs, anti-unionism, and in laws to suppress voters. This last is a page from the fascists’ tactics in the 1930s as they manipulated elections to achieve victory. The logical end to this was the abolishment of elections altogether. After all, who needed them? There was only one party.
After WWII, our hatred of fascism faded as conservatives infected the American psyche with their irrational fear of communism. This of course was absurd. Communism is unlikely to ever gain a foothold in a society that has known prosperity and freedom — but fascism is, if people fear that prosperity and freedom are threatened. If communism has an appeal anywhere, it’s in third-world countries that have never known prosperity, much less freedom.
It is not paranoiac to fear the rise of fascism in the US. But it’s troubling that so few sense that it’s happening. Perhaps it’s because of how we’ve been conditioned to fear communism since it was born, perhaps it’s because very few people still living really understand what fascism is — and that’s not surprising, since historians, economists, and political scientists can’t even agree. But in my mind, two things in particular characterizes fascism. One, of course, is the scapegoating that persists on the right. The other is the unholy alliance between government and corporations. And if you don’t think we’re not in the process of succumbing to corporate rule, you haven’t been paying attention.