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    A US fascism expert’s warning to Australia: ‘You guys are probably next’

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    It’s a warm autumn evening and Jason Stanley is walking through downtown Toronto, his home of a fortnight, discussing his view that America is sliding into fascism, and its global and historical parallels.“But the far right is everywhere,” he tells the Guardian. “There is a chill of fear everywhere.”As if on cue, a man emerges walking in the opposite direction wearing a bright red T-shirt bearing the slogan “Canada First”, a nationalist political movement promoting the mass deportation of migrants.“You can feel the sense of threat,” Stanley says. “Fascism begins with immigrants and national minorities, and it moves quickly to political opponents.”The trend is a global one, Stanley argues; the United States is just further down the path than other places. It is descending more quickly – and, as the events of past days have shown, more violently.When we speak, it is a week since rightwing provocateur Charlie Kirk was murdered at a university campus in Utah. In the days since, Kirk’s death has been weaponised by some supporters to attack political opponents. In an address from the Oval Office, the US president, Donald Trump, specifically blamed “radical left political violence” for Kirk’s death.View image in fullscreenA website has been established to dox anyone the site’s creators believe has “celebrated” Kirk’s assassination, or made comments they deem insufficiently orthodox on his legacy. People’s names, phone numbers, home addresses and places of work have been listed online, accompanied by threats and acts of violence.A thread on X is celebrating people losing their jobs for making comments about Kirk’s death: the thread lists dozens of cases of journalists, teachers, even hamburger cooks and Secret Service agents, summarily fired.“And JD Vance, the vice president of the United States, has encouraged ordinary citizens to report people for their negative comments about Charlie Kirk,” Stanley says.“That was a real signal saying, ‘We’re going to police your speech at every level’ … It’s a terror campaign against ordinary citizens’ speech.”Stanley made global headlines in March this year when, as a Yale professor specialising in the study of fascism, he announced he was leaving the US because he believed it was at risk of becoming a “fascist dictatorship”.View image in fullscreenNow a fortnight into his exile, he says he is not surprised by the worsening political climate in the US, “but it’s always terrifying when it comes”.He does not regret the move, arguing he can “fight better” from outside the US.“Right now, walking through the streets of Toronto, I feel safe. Given that the president of the United States said we’re going to target the people who call us fascists and Nazis, I probably wouldn’t feel safe in the United States. A lot of people don’t feel safe in the United States.”There is historical resonance, too, in Stanley’s exile from a rising tide of fascism. His German Jewish forebears, including both his parents and grandmother (who rescued more than 400 Jews from concentration camps) fled a Nazi regime that had them marked for extermination.As we speak, Stanley is partway through writing an article on America’s current moment, drawing from his grandmother’s memoir of the Kristallnacht, a Nazi-coordinated, nationwide antisemitic riot in 1938.View image in fullscreenHe cites a quote (mis)attributed most often to Mark Twain: “History doesn’t repeat, but it rhymes.”“I find myself asking: ‘Is this moment exactly Kristallnacht? Is it exactly the Reichstag fire?’ It’s like it’s these jigsaw puzzles … it’s a piece of one and a piece of another.”Stanley says he sees elements of Kristallnacht in the current conflagration after Kirk’s killing – the tumult exploited to expand the target of hostility from immigrants to political opponents.There is parallel too, he says, in the militarisation of the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency (Ice) – echoes of the Sturmabteilung, Ernst Röhm’s feared brownshirts.Much of the US’s political upheaval is idiosyncratic to its own history and political moment, but Australia, far distant, perhaps, with a different political culture, is not immune from a descent into fascism, Stanley insists.View image in fullscreenIn fact, he argues, Australia’s history makes it acutely vulnerable to precisely that.“You guys are probably next, right? The first domino to go.“You guys had a White Australia policy until the 1970s. That’s a terrible sign. And you attacked your universities ages ago.”Stanley cites, as well, Australia’s history of Indigenous displacement, its “performatively vicious” treatment of asylum seekers and the fierce “anti-woke” rhetoric that pierces public discourse.“A lot of what you’re seeing in the United States must seem familiar to you, even though you’ve come nowhere close to what we’ve seen in the last few months; but the ideological preconditions are certainly familiar to you.”The response to this might be that Australia has just re-elected a centre-left government with a commanding majority, rejecting anti-immigration rhetoric and division to such an extent that the leader of the opposition – who ran on these campaign platforms – didn’t just lose the election, but his own seat in parliament.Australia’s institutions, too, can be argued to be more robust: the public service and judiciary are far less politicised, voting is independently overseen and compulsory (driving parties towards a more moderate centrism), political violence is rare (and not fuelled by a firearm epidemic).But Stanley points out that fascism often comes cloaked in the language, the institutions and the processes of democracy: an insidiousness that lies in seeking to appear democratic.“Fascism conceals its anti-democratic nature by representing itself as the general will of the people, where ‘the people’ are the dominant racial or religious group.“It will say ‘the majority of people want this’, but that’s not the core idea of democracy. The core idea of democracy is not the tyranny of the majority. Democracy is a system based on freedom and equality.”Fascism is not a binary question either, nor one of an absolute threshold. Democracy and fascism are concepts that exist on a spectrum – a country can be more or less democratic, more or less fascist.“Yes, the United States is quite fascist now. It’s much less of a democracy. But, officially, at least, the United States is a democracy living under an emergency.“And this emergency allows the government to scoop people up into unmarked vans; perhaps you can stay indefinitely as a democracy under emergency?”View image in fullscreenA nation’s slide into fascism carries obvious consequence for the nation itself, but Stanley argues that when the country in question possesses the strongest military on Earth, is the global superpower and dominates international politics, it carries immense ramifications for the entire world.“It normalises and legitimates fascist movements everywhere,” Stanley argues. “So you’re going to see more of that dynamic, I suspect. All the remaining democratic countries are going to face surging anti-democratic, ultranationalist movements.”For Australia, the consequence of America’s descent is particularly acute.Since the end of the second world war, Australia has depended on the United States for its defence and security (including sheltering under its nuclear umbrella). The postwar “international rules-based order” (to use the parlance so loved by Australia’s foreign policy establishment) is, some argue, more accurately characterised as a US imperialist one.But Australia’s “great and powerful friend” (another particularly Australian foreign policy nomenclature) is no longer a reliable or consistent ally. Perhaps it never was, only now it is more nakedly so.Trump’s second administration has an exposed record of treating allies with worse than indifference – rather with contempt.Here, Stanley has perhaps his strongest note of caution. “Undoing fascism is very, very hard,” he says. Democracy is not some natural default.“We shouldn’t be surprised if, very soon, there are no more democracies, or very few. Democracy wasn’t a thing for a long time: we had monarchies and we had empires, and other forms of government, but we’re now in a situation where India, Russia, the United States and China are not democratic countries. So you have to ask: what will remain?” More

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      What does Donald Trump think free speech means? – podcast

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      Archive: CBS, Good Morning America, The Charlie Kirk show, ABC News, Katie Miller Pod, CBS Austin, PIX11 News, Fox News
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      ‘It’s like they’re trying to get prosecuted’: when cartoons try to take down governments

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      It shouldn’t really be a surprise that South Park has become “the most important TV show of the Trump 2.0 era”. Trey Parker and Matt Stone have spent decades taking any potshot they like at whoever they choose, from Saddam Hussein to Guitar Hero to – thanks to their inexplicable 2001 live-action sitcom That’s My Bush! – other sitting presidents.But by using every episode in its latest series to focus their fury solely at the current US administration, hitting Trump with a combination of policy rebuttals and dick jokes (and daring him to sue them in the process), this is the strongest sense yet that Parker and Stone are out for nothing less than full regime change.Let’s not pretend that South Park is the first cartoon to attempt this, though. For almost a century, animation has often proved to be a better satirical weapon than anything made with flesh-and-blood actors. There is a sense that, to some, George HW Bush will be remembered by the mauling he received at the hands of The Simpsons, which depicted him as a gullible, uptight neighbour after he dared to criticise the show during a speech on family values. You could argue that the show pulled its punches a little – his episode, Two Bad Neighbors, didn’t air until he had been out of office for three years – but the anger is still palpable.View image in fullscreenSimilarly, even though Seth MacFarlane’s American Dad has been going for so long (388 episodes and counting) and its satire has long since softened into screwball sitcommery, it’s important to remember that his series came to fruition as a response to the George W Bush administration in the wake of 9/11. The protagonist is a patriotic Republican CIA agent hellbent on enforcing homeland security no matter what. In season three, he performed a Schoolhouse Rock-style song about the Iran-Contra scandal that may well qualify as the best entry-level explainer of the subject ever made.The fact that these worked where That’s My Bush! failed might be down to the fact that they are animated. “I think there’s a spectrum,” says Dr Adam Smith of York University’s Research Unit for the Study of Satire. “On one end, you’ve got film, where you’re seeing an actual representation of the thing you’re satirising. And on the other end of the spectrum, there are things like abstract poetry, where the viewer has to work harder to figure out what the thing means. Visual comedy, like cartoons and caricatures, is on the direct end of the spectrum, so you get the message in a split second.”View image in fullscreenThis is partly why South Park is succeeding in tackling Trump; while drama and journalism might grapple with the totality of Trump’s instincts and temperament, South Park can depict him as a horny psychopath with a tiny penis, and it lands all the harder.The approach is in huge contrast to their depiction of Trump during his last term. Back then, the show largely avoided him, instead drawing in the elementary school character Mr Garrison as a Trump character. As Dr Smith explains, that was a far more traditional way of tackling a government.“A lot of satire as we understand it today relies on allegory or double entendre,” says Smith. “This evolved in the 18th century in response to libel laws. It’s a way to critique the thing without being prosecuted for the thing.”But this time around, South Park is going in two-footed. This season’s Trump is Donald Trump, animated with a photo of his face. This doesn’t leave much room for allegory.“What they’re doing now is the opposite of how satire normally works,” Smith continues. “It’s almost like they’re trying to get prosecuted, isn’t it? The satirical act of this new series is the baiting of Donald Trump. If they can get the president of the free world to try to sue them, it reveals that he’s not got a good sense of humour. It reveals he’s petty. It reveals that he’s ridiculous. So the critique will actually be in the way he responds.”View image in fullscreenOf course, these are very American examples of satire, bright and funny and direct. It’s telling that British efforts to mimic this approach tend to be rooted less in longform series and more in sketch. Spitting Image is the prime example here, which was able to crystallise the perception of several leading politicians for 12 years in the 80s and 90s. But even this has cooled of late. BritBox’s Spitting Image revival died on impact in 2020, and other attempts at animated sketch satire (like 2DTV and Headcases) similarly failed.The comedian and philosopher Imran Yusuf attempted a version of this with his 2014 animation Union Jack, about a British man who – proving some subjects never fully go away – is aggressively suspicious of his non-white neighbours. “We wrote a couple of scripts and tried to pitch it, but everyone turned it away. When it went out on BBC Three, the commissioner hated it,” says Yusuf. “Britain is terrified of doing what the Americans do in regards to political satire and animation. Why don’t we have The Simpsons and Family Guy and American Dad and South Park? Part of the problem is, and this is where it gets really hairy, if a black or a brown writer writes political satire that satirises white politics and white culture, there’s going to be less commissioning will to make it happen.”View image in fullscreenStill, it could be worse. Elsewhere in the world, where authoritarian regimes tend not to enjoy direct insults, animators have long since used other methods to get their point across. For example, Marjane Satrapi’s film Persepolis, about a young girl struggling to come of age against the backdrop of the Iranian Revolution – which it depicts unflatteringly – could only have been made outside Iran. Indeed, upon release it faced bans in Iran and Lebanon, and in recent years schools in some American states have attempted to ban Satrapi’s original graphic novel from schools.Elsewhere, artists have had to use metaphor and symbolism to slip the net. During its time spent under military dictatorship from the 60s to the 80s, Brazil’s government suppressed political art, so artists were forced to obfuscate their point. This resulted in work like Vendo Ouvindo by Lula Gonzaga. On the surface, the film is simply a rudimentary cutout of a face. However, as soon as you key into the context in which it was made, you realise that the face can see and hear but not speak. In other words, it’s a reflection of life under authoritarian censorship.But sometimes even this doesn’t work. Dimensions of Dialogue, a short film by the Czech film-maker Jan Švankmajer, was an abstract depiction of, among other things, one clay head sharpening its tongue on another clay head. Despite containing no specific message, it was made in explicit defiance of the Czechoslovak Communist party’s preference for social realism in animation. And it worked; the party not only banned it, but used it as an example of the sort of thing it wouldn’t stand for.View image in fullscreenTellingly, the White House reaction to South Park has been the exact opposite: JD Vance and the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement chose to tweet about their depiction rather than try to erase it from existence.But, as Dr Smith says, the fact that the administration is attempting to laugh along with it doesn’t mean that the satire has failed. “I suppose it depends on what the point of satire is,” he says. “You always get these questions like, does it change anything? I think it’s too soon to say. My preferred explanation when people ask about the value of satire is that, if you engage in enough satire, it makes you incredulous. Perhaps the ultimate goal of South Park is not how JD Vance or Ice reacts, but the people who have watched it and thought about it. Are they going to be more critical in their day-to-day lives as a result?”With this in mind, something like South Park, which has the ability to go after Donald Trump so aggressively that nobody can misunderstand its point of view, is something of an outlier. But if America does slip into full-blown dictatorship, as with Brazil and the Eastern Bloc before it, this might all change. In other words, if you like your animation satirical, now might be the time to get into abstract clay heads. More

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      in Elections

      Naval Academy Censors Ryan Holiday’s Lecture on Censorship

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      For the past four years, I have been delivering a series of lectures on the virtues of Stoicism to midshipmen at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, Md., and I was supposed to continue this on April 14 to the entire sophomore class on the theme of wisdom.Roughly an hour before my talk was to begin, I received a call: Would I refrain from any mention in my remarks of the recent removal of 381 supposedly controversial books from the Nimitz library on campus? My slides had been sent up the chain of command at the school, which was now, as it was explained to me, extremely worried about reprisals if my talk appeared to flout Executive Order 14151 (“Ending Radical and Wasteful Government D.E.I. Programs and Preferencing.”)When I declined, my lecture — as well as a planned speech before the Navy football team, with whom my books on Stoicism are popular was canceled. (The academy “made a schedule change that aligns with its mission of preparing midshipmen for careers of service,” a Navy spokesperson told Times Opinion. “The Naval Academy is an apolitical institution.”)Had I been allowed to go ahead, this is the story I was going to tell the class:In the fall of 1961, a young naval officer named James Stockdale, a graduate of the Naval Academy and future Medal of Honor recipient who went on to be a vice admiral, began a course at Stanford he had eagerly anticipated on Marxist theory. “We read no criticisms of Marxism,” he recounted later, “only primary sources. All year we read the works of Marx and Lenin.”It might seem unusual that the Navy would send Stockdale, then a 36-year-old fighter pilot, to get a master’s degree in the social sciences, but he knew why he was there. Writing home to his parents that year, he reminded them of a lesson they had instilled in him, “You really can’t do well competing against something you don’t understand as well as something you can.”At the time, Marxism was not just an abstract academic subject, but the ideological foundation of America’s greatest geopolitical enemy. The stakes were high. The Soviets were pushing a vision of global Communism and the conflict in Vietnam was flashing hot, the North Vietnamese fueled by a ruthless mix of dogma and revolutionary zeal. “Marxism” was, like today, also a culture war boogeyman used by politicians and demagogues.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      in US Politics

      In Trumpland, ‘defending free speech’ means one thing: submission to the president | Rafael Behr

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      Compared with many countries around the world, the US is still a great democracy, but a much lesser one than it was four months ago. The constitution has not been rewritten. Checks and balances have not been dissolved. The difference is a president who ignores those constraints, and the impotence of the institutions that should enforce them.Which is the true US, the one enshrined in law or the one that smirks in contempt of law? If the latter, should Britain welcome its embrace as a kindred nation? That is an existential question lurking in the technical folds of a potential transatlantic trade agreement.If JD Vance is to be believed, the prospects of such a deal are looking up. The US vice-president reports that Donald Trump “really loves the United Kingdom”. The two countries are connected by a “real cultural affinity” that transcends business interests.This is a more emollient Vance than the one who earlier this year denounced Britain, alongside other European democracies, as a hotbed of anti-Christian prejudice and endemic censorship. In a speech to the Munich Security Conference in February, Vance told his audience that Europe’s greatest threat comes not from Russia or China, but “from within”. He saw a continent in retreat from the “values shared with the United States of America”. Vance returned to the theme when Keir Starmer visited the White House, rebuking the prime minister for “infringements on free speech that … affect American technology companies and, by extension, American citizens”.That was a swipe at the Online Safety Act, which makes social media companies, websites and search engines responsible for “harmful content” published on their platforms. The law had a tortuous genesis between 2022 and 2023. Its scope expanded and contracted depending on what was deemed enforceable and desirable under three different Conservative prime ministers.The version now on the statute book focuses on unambiguously nasty stuff – incitement to violence, terrorism, race hate, encouraging suicide, child abuse images. Technology companies are required to have systems for removing such content. Those mechanisms are assessed by the regulator, Ofcom. Inadequate enforcement is punishable with fines. Refusal to comply can result in criminal prosecutions.That was the theory. The question of how the law should be implemented in practice was deferred. The answer seems to be not much if Britain wants a trade deal with the US.Last month, Ofcom received a delegation from the US state department, which raised the Online Safety Act in line with the Trump administration’s mission “to affirm the US commitment to defending freedom of expression in Europe and around the world”. Last week, answering questions from the parliamentary liaison committee, Starmer confirmed that diluting digital regulation was on the table in trade talks when he acknowledged that “there are questions about how technology impacts free speech”. The prime minister also conceded that the UK’s digital services tax, which aims to clamp down on international tech companies avoiding tax by hiding their profits offshore, could be up for negotiation.These demands from the White House have been flagged well in advance. In February, Trump signed a “memorandum to defend US companies and innovators from extortion overseas”. The administration promised to take a dim view of any attempt to raise taxes from US tech companies and any use of “products and technology in ways that undermine free speech or foster censorship”.Regulation that impedes the operation of US digital behemoths – anything short of blanket permission to do as they please – will apparently be treated as a hostile act and an affront to human liberty.This is an imperial demand for market access cynically camouflaged in the language of universal rights. The equivalent trick is not available in other sectors of the economy. US farmers hate trade barriers that stop their products flooding European markets, but they don’t argue that their chlorine-washed chickens are being censored. (Not yet.)That isn’t to say digital communications can be subject to toxicity tests just like agricultural exports. There is wide scope for reasonable disagreement on what counts as intolerable content, and how it should be controlled. The boundaries are not easily defined. But it is also beyond doubt that thresholds exist. There is no free-speech case for child sexual abuse images. The most liberal jurisdictions recognise that the state has a duty to proscribe some material even if there is a market for it.The question of how online space should be policed is complex in principle and fiendishly difficult in practice, not least because the infrastructure we treat as a public arena is run by private commercial interests. Britain cannot let the terms of debate be dictated by a US administration that is locked in corrupting political intimacy with those interests.It is impossible to separate the commercial and ideological strands of Trump’s relationship with Silicon Valley oligarchs. They used their power and wealth to boost his candidacy and they want payback from his incumbency. There is not much coherence to the doctrine. “Free” speech is the kind that amplifies the president’s personal prejudices. Correcting his lies with verifiable facts is censorship.That warped frame extends beyond the shores of the US. It is shared by Kemi Badenoch, who considers Vance a friend. Asked about the vice-president’s Munich speech, the Conservative leader said she thought he was “dropping some truth bombs, quite frankly”. Badenoch’s own speeches consistently fret about the capture of Britain’s elite institutions, especially the Whitehall bureaucracy, by repressive woke dogma.There is a school of militant leftism that is tediously censorious, stretching liberal piety to illiberal extremes, and there always has been. But it is very far from power. Maybe Badenoch ramps up the menace to appeal to a fanatical audience on social media. Perhaps she radicalised herself by reading about it there. Either way, to fixate on campus protest politics as the main threat to western democracy when a tyrant sits in the Oval Office requires an act of mental contortion that, if not actually stupid, does a strong imitation of stupidity.Britain doesn’t have to take instruction on political freedom from a regime that suffocates media independence with bullying and vexatious litigation; that demands universities teach the ruling party’s orthodoxies; that courts dictatorships while sabotaging democratic alliances; that kidnaps and jails innocent people with no regard for due process, then ignores the court rulings that say they should be free.These are the “values” that Vance is talking about when he laments that Europe and the US are drifting apart. This is the model of “free speech” that a Trump trading partner is expected to endorse; to protect. Is that the stuff of “real cultural affinity” that earns Britain a deal? Let’s hope not.

      Rafael Behr is a Guardian columnist More

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      in US Politics

      Being a librarian was already hard. Then came the Trump administration

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      For many librarians, the stakes of the job are high – they’re facing burnout, book bans, legislation pushed by rightwing groups, and providing essential resources in an effort to fill gaps in the US’s social safety net.Now, as Donald Trump’s administration rolls out their agenda, many librarians are describing his policies as “catastrophic” to accessing information and the libraries themselves – institutions considered fundamental to democracy.Rebecca Hass, the programming and outreach manager at the Anne Arundel county public library in Maryland, has seen the effects of Trump’s second term ripple in.“The impact [is] on many different community partners and customers that are represented in some of the executive orders,” said Hass. “We get everyone at the library. When people lose their jobs, they come to the library. When they’re not sure what’s going on, they come to the library.”Hass said the library received some pushback about LGBTQ+ programming, including protesters showing up to its trans Pride event. But the library is undeterred in efforts to meet community needs and supply resources, creating new resource pages on immigration and LGBTQ+ communities, and updating others. They have expanded partnerships, including with social workers in the library. Usage of the community pantry has increased.Much of this is work the library has always done, Hass said, adding: “But now it’s taken on urgency and additional responsibilities.”Emily Drabinski, an associate professor at the Queens College Graduate School of Library and Information Studies at the City University of New York, said that what is happening to librarians now mirrors what is happening to other workers.“You don’t get paid enough to meet your basic needs. Your autonomy at work is consistently under threat. People who think that they know better how to do your job are trying to get the power to push you out of your position,” she said.Some librarians described the impact of institutions capitulating to censorship on their work. A librarian in the deep south, who asked to remain anonymous in order to protect their safety, described tensions rising on their library board, and how the library is taking pre-emptive measures to make it challenging to find titles considered “controversial”.“I see all that being as a measure of: ‘If we fly under the radar, we’ll be safe,’” they said. “But it’s sad because who gets left behind – for staff members of color, [or] who are visibly queer, who are disabled, we don’t get to turn off that part of ourselves.”Meanwhile, Imani, an academic librarian in Texas who declined to give their full name for privacy concerns, is an active public library user, said “DEI removal” happened in her workplace in 2023. Now, they’re seeing increased scrutiny on how funds are spent, especially in regard to large databases.“It’s really important that people know that this isn’t new at all,” she said, adding that she knew a school librarian who retired several years ago due to fears of criminalization. “At this point, many librarians have done every single thing they can to save things.”Also, Imani noted, librarians are doing their work with “very little money, very little support [and] higher, higher demand”.Elon Musk’s unofficial “department of government efficiency” recently gutted the Institute of Museum and Library Services, which the American Library Association noted greatly affects the important services they offer, including high-speed internet access, summer reading programs, veterans’ telehealth spaces and more, with the most intense losses in rural communities.While the majority of public library funding comes from city and county taxes, according to EveryLibrary, the IMLS provides grants that support these critical services in every state.Marisa Kabas, the independent journalist who writes the The Handbasket, obtained a copy of a letter sent by IMLS’s acting director, Keith Sonderling, announcing that state library grantee funding would be terminated immediately. (Sonderling previously declared his intention to “restore focus on patriotism” to the IMLS, which many groups noted as an attack on freedom of expression.)The IMLS submitted a budget request of $280m for 2025.“That’s nothing in terms of the federal budget, yet it’s going to affect every single library in the country,” said Jessamyn West, who works in a rural, public library in Vermont in addition to working with the Flickr Foundation. “It’s going to make them scramble, it’s going to make them worry, and it’s going to make them have to make really difficult choices for the services that they give to their patrons.”In many cases, the money is already spent because of contracts libraries had with governments, West added.“We’re all pretty furious,” West said.Librarians are speaking out about what communities could lose, including internet access and workforce development in Kentucky, the Talking Book and Braille Center in New Jersey, digital hotspots in North Carolina, and much more outlined in reporting from Book Riot. As librarians grappled with losses that would directly affect their work, the IMLS Instagram account issued posts appearing to mock grantees.“It’s catastrophic,” Drabinski said, adding that IMLS funds significant library infrastructure, including ebook platforms and interlibrary loan systems. “Without those funds, many of those systems will grind to a halt. All of our work is about to become harder at the same time that the need for our resources and services will explode.”Drabinski continued: “What we want is for people to be able to read, and for people to have enough. The problems that we face as American workers are similar to yours, and we share a fight.” More

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      As Trump rewrites even America’s history, institutions have two choices – submit or find ways to resist | Charlotte Higgins

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      It has come to this: we are now in Ministry of Truth territory. In Washington DC, the Smithsonian Institution, the US’s ensemble of 21 great national museums, last week became the subject of an executive order by President Donald Trump. “Distorted narratives” are to be rooted out. There will be no more of the “corrosive ideology” that has fostered a “sense of national shame”. The institution has, reads the order, “come under the influence of a divisive, race-centered ideology” that portrays “American and Western values as inherently harmful and oppressive”. The vice-president, JD Vance, is, by virtue of his office, on the museum’s board. He is charged by Trump to “prohibit expenditure” on programmes that “divide Americans based on race”. He is to remove “improper ideology”. The order is titled “Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History”. George Orwell lived too soon.The move is deeply shocking, but predictable. After Trump’s insertion of himself as chair of the John F Kennedy Center and his railing against the supposed wokeness of the national performing arts venue, the federally funded Smithsonian was bound to be next in line. Those who imagined the Kennedy Center was a one-off, attracting the president’s ire for personal reasons, were deluding themselves about the scale of Trump’s ideological ambition. Picked out for opprobrium in the executive order are the Smithsonian American Women’s History Museum for celebrating transgender women (the museum, it should be pointed out, has yet to be built); the National Museum of African American History and Culture; and an exhibition titled The Shape of Power: Stories of Race and American Sculpture at the American Art Museum.I visited the Museum of African American History for the first time a couple of weeks ago. It is a vast book of a museum, heavy with text. It was full, when I visited, of mostly Black families seeking out an encounter with a narrative that has long been a footnote to, or erased completely from, the main national story. You could spend days absorbing the web of stories that the museum offers, beginning in its basements with the transatlantic slave trade, where one of the most moving objects is, unexpectedly and profoundly, a piece of iron ballast that took the place of a human body after a ship’s cargo of enslaved people had been disgorged on the triangular route between Africa, the Americas and Europe. The whole strikes a fascinating balance between an unflinching gaze on systems of oppression, and a sense of Black achievement and cultural richness that has nevertheless effloresced.Lonnie Bunch, the founding director of the museum, gave a talk at the House of Lords in 2011 about the institution, which was still in the planning, and would open five years later. I can still recall how moving it was to hear about the difficulties of making a museum – a place where a story is told through objects – from communities traditionally poor in material things. The institution had put out a call for loans and donations. Precious, carefully treasured objects – a bonnet embroidered by someone’s enslaved grandmother, for example – were arriving into the new collection.Fast forward to the present, and Bunch is in charge of the entire Smithsonian Institution. This is a man who believes, as he told Queen’s University Belfast last year, that history can be used to “understand the tensions that have divided us. And those tensions are really where the learning is where the growth is, where the opportunities to transform are.” That compassionate vision of the past, as a means through which the citizens of the present can better understand each other, is completely opposed to the monolithically triumphalist spirit of Trump’s executive order, in which history is reduced to “our Nation’s unparalleled legacy of advancing liberty, individual rights, and human happiness”. How much easier it is, to sink into this pillowy, comforting notion of glorious progress than to grapple with the kind of knotty, often upsetting and confronting history that the Museum of African American History offers its visitors. But it makes me wonder: can the museum survive this government?I visited, too, the American Art Museum, whose show The Shape of Power is targeted in the executive order as emblematic of the Smithsonian’s decline into “divisive, race-centered ideology”. The exhibition, which was years in the careful making, points out what is surely obvious, once it has been given a moment’s thought: that race is not an inherent and prepolitical category, but rather a constructed set of ideologies that served (and still serve) a set of economic and political interests. (One way to tell that race is a socially constructed category, in fact, is by looking to the Greeks and the Romans – the people who established, in the minds of many on the US right, “western civilisation”. They were xenophobic in their own way, and enslavement was a fact of their societies. But as is obvious from their literature, whiteness and Blackness were for them simply not operative categories.) The exhibition is an eye- and mind-opening look at how race ideology has translated into and been reinforced, or deconstructed, by sculpture – that peculiarly lifelike and thus “truthful”-seeming artform.The catalogue quotes Toni Morrison, who once wrote that “I want to draw a map, so to speak, of a critical geography and use that map to open as much space for discovery, intellectual adventure, and close exploration as did the original charting of the New World.” Such intellectual adventuring is not what is wanted by the White House now. Trump’s world is more like Viktor Orbán’s, under whose government the school history curriculum has been rewritten to glorify Hungary, or Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s Turkey, where the novelist Elif Shafak, as she recalled in a Guardian Live event last week, was prosecuted for “insulting Turkishness”, her lawyer obliged to defend in court the views of her fictional characters. The Smithsonian and all who work there have an unenviable choice, one that has already been put before other great or formerly great institutions such as Columbia University: to comply with Trump’s dark demands; or to find ways to defy them.

      Charlotte Higgins is the Guardian’s chief culture writer More

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      Just like McCarthy, Trump spreads fear everywhere before picking off his targets | Kenan Malik

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      ‘Gold, mister, is worth what it is because of the human labor that goes into the finding and getting of it.” It’s a line spoken by Walter Huston in the 1948 film The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, a story about greed and moral corruption directed by his son, John Huston. That line was to have appeared on screen at the beginning of the film. It didn’t, on orders from the studio, Warner Bros. “It was all on account of the word ‘labor’,” John Huston later reflected. “That word looks dangerous in print, I guess.”It was a relatively insignificant moment in the drama of America’s postwar red scare. McCarthyism proper had still to take flight. Yet, so deep ran the fear already that a single, everyday word could create consternation in Hollywood.McCarthyism, the historian Ellen Schrecker has observed, “was a peculiarly American style of repression – nonviolent and consensual. Only two people were killed; only a few hundred went to jail.” Yet it constituted “one of the most severe episodes of political repression the United States ever experienced”.Sackings and legal sanctions created such fear that, in the words of the political philosopher Corey Robin, society was put “on lockdown”, with people so “petrified of being punished for their political beliefs” that “they drew in their political limbs”.It was not just communists who were silenced. “If someone insists that there is discrimination against Negroes in this country, or that there is an inequality of wealth,” claimed the chair of one state committee on un-American activities, “there is every reason to believe that person is a communist.” This at a time when Jim Crow still held the south in its grip. The red scare paused the civil rights movement for more than a decade and drew the teeth of union radicalism.Fear has always been a means of enforcing social order, most obviously in authoritarian states, from China to Saudi Arabia, Turkey to Russia, where repression becomes the foundation of political rule. In liberal democracies, order rests more on consensus than overt brutality. But here, too, fear plays its role. The worker’s fear of being sacked, the claimant’s of being sanctioned, the renter’s of being made homeless, the fear of the working-class mother facing a social worker or of the black teenager walking past a policeman – relations of power are also relations of fear, but fears usually so sublimated that we simply accept that that’s the way the system works.It is when consensus ruptures, when social conflict erupts, or when the authorities need to assert their power, that liberal democracies begin wielding fear more overtly as a political tool to quieten dissent or impose authority. Think of how the British state treated Irish people in the 1970s and 1980s, or miners during the great strike of 1984/85.Seventy years on from McCarthyism, America seems to be entering such a moment. Over the past month, we have seen the mass deportation to a notorious foreign jail of hundreds of people declared to be illegal immigrants and gang members, without evidence or due process; the arrest, detention and threatened deportation of foreign students, including Mahmoud Khalil, Rumeysa Ozturk, Momodou Taal and Yunseo Chung, for protesting about the war in Gaza; the blacklisting of law firms representing clients of whom Donald Trump does not approve; the mass sackings of federal workers.Fear works here in two ways. The targets of repression are groups about whom it is easier to create fear, and so easier to deprive of rights and due process. Doing so then creates a wider climate of fear in which people become less willing to speak out, and not just about Palestine. Already, “whole segments of American society [are] running scared”, as one observer put it.Institutions such as universities, Schrecker concluded about the 1950s, “did not fight McCarthyism” but “contributed to it”, not only through dismissals and blacklists but also through accepting “the legitimacy of what the congressional committees and other official investigators were doing”, thereby conferring “respectability upon the most repressive elements” of the process.It’s a process repeating itself today. Earlier this month, after cancelling $400m (£310m) in federal grants and contracts, Trump made a series of demands of Columbia University, including that it change its disciplinary rules, place the Middle Eastern, South Asian and African Studies department under “academic receivership” and adopt the contested International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance definition of antisemitism that its own lead drafter, Kenneth Stern, condemns as having been “weaponised” into “a blunt instrument to label anyone an antisemite” and to “go after pro-Palestinian speech”. Last week, Columbia capitulated.skip past newsletter promotionafter newsletter promotionMichael Roth, the president of Wesleyan University, one of the few academic leaders willing to speak out, decries “the greatest pressure put on intellectual life since the McCarthy era”, describing “anticipatory obedience” as “a form of cowardice”. Cowardice, though, has become the defining trait, most university leaders “just happy that Columbia is the whipping boy”. Columbia may be the first university in Trump’s crosshairs, but it won’t be the last. Keeping silent won’t save them.In his incendiary speech in Munich in February, the US vice-president, JD Vance, harangued European leaders to worry less about Russia than “the threat from within, the retreat of Europe from some of its most fundamental values”, especially free speech. The same, it would seem, applies to America, too. Many of those who previously so vigorously upheld the importance of free speech have suddenly lost their voice or now believe that speech should be free only for those with the right kinds of views. The brazen hypocrisy of Vance, and of the fair-weather supporters of free speech, should nevertheless not lead us to ignore the fact that, from more intrusive policing of social media to greater restrictions on our ability to protest to the disciplining, even sacking, of workers holding “gender-critical views”, these are issues to which we urgently need to attend.“I live in an age of fear,” lamented the essayist and author EB White in 1947, after the New York Herald had suggested that all employees be forced to declare their political beliefs to retain their jobs. He was, he insisted, less worried “that there were communists in Hollywood” than to “read your editorial in praise of loyalty testing and thought control”. It is a perspective as vital now as it was then, and as necessary on this side of the Atlantic as in America. More