WHY I AM BECOMING A FASCIST

My MAGA hat arrived this morning

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If I could raise my arms, I’d be doing a Nazi salute right now. If I could walk, I’d be goose-stepping.

Since a good deal of the world seems weary of liberalism—and, to a certain extent, democracy—hating progressive climate policies, LGBTQ+ people, and immigrants, it might be time to rethink my position.

After all, it’s painful to wake up every day to the news and discover what fresh hell the increasing number of right-wing governments are serving up. So instead of complaining, resisting, or crying, I’ve decided to adopt a new attitude.

Here in West London, in this tiny corner of Europe, we are embattled and under siege. This liberal enclave is being attacked from all sides. It comes as a shock: we’ve always taken it for granted that our values—freedom, democracy, equality, inclusion, diversity, and the rest—would be attractive to most people since they would likely benefit them and their families.

So why not? I decided during Trump’s inauguration to buy a MAGA hat and start loving him, and then, for that matter, all the other monstrous dictators and crazy ideologues. Trump may be a convicted felon, rapist, racist, liar, and scumbag of the highest order, but that hasn’t stopped millions of Americans from voting for him, or even adoring him.

But my exceptionalism and visceral hatred of Trump must be shortening my life. After all, many youthful radicals—including some of my friends like Christopher Hitchens—moved effortlessly from the left to the right in their later years. Now I, by sheer force of will, if not weakness, am about to do the same.

If I were to become an enthusiastic supporter of the far-right, I would unfortunately have to abandon my friends for a whole new gang. I’m willing to divest myself of those pearl-clutching pinkos. But where will I find my new tribe? I don’t know a single person who voted for Brexit or has said anything positive about Marine Le Pen or Giorgia Meloni, the so-called sanitised right.

This is an appeal to anyone willing to welcome a scolded, self-punishing former leftist. Anyone with the compassion to open their arms to a woman-hating, Brexit-loving neo-fascist: announce yourself in the comments below. Let’s start puncturing those immigrant boats bobbing up and down in the Channel.

I want to feel as excited as the right-wing nutters; I want to believe that things will improve, that there will be a livable future for our children. I’m done with pessimism; fed up with things not going my way. So rather than pathetically attempting to change the world, I will change myself. It will be a process of re-education and rethinking. A complete conversion.

I’m going to stop recycling and cut off my donations to Save the Children; run over peace activists in my wheelchair; and boycott woke companies. There will be no end to my pettiness, and what fun it will be. A bonfire of my prejudices. How hard can it be to become a fascist sympathiser?

Ah, the glorious future we’re building. Picture it: a world where every street corner boasts a statue of a strongman, gazing heroically at children marching in perfect formation to schools that teach only one subject—how great the nation is. Libraries? Burned. Museums? Repurposed as training grounds for militias. Every citizen will wear a uniform, preferably beige, to eliminate the scourge of individuality.

The economy will thrive under a system of forced autarky—no imports, no exports, just a lot of potatoes and national pride. Immigration will be banned entirely, except for importing foreign scapegoats to blame when things inevitably fall apart. And let’s not forget the mandatory "Hate Hour," where we’ll all gather in town squares to yell at holograms of imaginary enemies. It’s a future so bright you’ll need blinders—not that you’ll have a choice, since free thought will be considered treasonous.

My MAGA hat arrived this morning, to my partner Isabella’s horror and that of my carer. We went to the farmer’s market, a West London middle-class domain if ever there was one. With my new diamond stud earring and MAGA hat, I expected more attention, even some vitriol, anticipating an egg or two. But nothing.

Then I slid down to Marks & Spencer in Hammersmith. Still nothing. Determined to annoy people, to see if their political instincts might be arouse, but not a fucking hope; these quiescent scumbags only care about themselves and their shopping. Fuck them, these Nazi enablers!

Viva hatred and the revolution!

… It’s been a week and it turns out that being a fascist is far less thrilling than I’d imagined. I thought there’d be rallies, secret handshakes and bonfires of my friend’s books; even my own, I’ve got spare copies in several languages in my basement, ready to go. I’ve tried to muster some enthusiasm for the culture wars, but honestly, how many hours can one spend ranting about gender-neutral toilets before it all starts to feel trivial and bitter. The truth is, fascism isn’t the grand spectacle I was promised, it’s hardly a Nuremburg rally – most of the activity occurs on Facebook .

Nationalism, for all its pomp and bluster, is ultimately a hollow creed. It promises glory but delivers division, preaches unity but thrives on fear. It’s a story we’ve heard before—flags waved, enemies invented, and the past rewritten to justify the present. But beneath the pageantry lies an emptiness, a desperate need to blame others for the complexities of modern life. The truth is, no nation is an island, no people are pure, and no wall can keep out the realities of a shared world. Nationalism is a con—a cheap trick played on those who long for simplicity in an intricate world. And while it may offer fleeting comfort to some, it comes at the cost of empathy, progress, and the very freedoms it claims to protect. So no, I won’t be raising my arm in salute or goose-stepping into this delusion. The future deserves better than beige uniforms and hate-filled squares.