The thesis is that the features which have characterised Trump’s second Presidency (and arguably his first) such as the ICE raids for undocumented migrants; the imperial aspirations to seize Greenland and Canada and ventures in Iran, Venezuela and the Caribbean; mass rallies; attacks on ‘elites’ and the dog whistle rhetoric aimed at racial and other minority out-groups constitute evidence that the USA is on the superhighway towards a fascist dictatorship.
In examining the case for the affirmative, Buruma does tick the relevant evidential boxes and convincingly fleshes out archetypal themes. But he also issues judicious cautionary notes around the definition of fascism, pointing out how some references to it are so catch-all as to put the mark of Cain on enemies who clearly do not fit the criteria. He acknowledges that fascism, like its antonym communism, is so often used as a term of cheap abuse by polemicists so as to lose its meaning.
As well as its grotesque uses by Marxist-Leninist sects and regimes, think of the former GDR’s regime’s description of the Berlin Wall as the “The Anti-Fascist Protection Rampart”; there are also peculiarly American right wing takes on the term such as that by Michele Bachmann, the former Republican Minnesota congresswomen, who compared high tax rates with the Holocaust; or her Republican colleague from Ohio, Warren Davidson, who believed that a government mandate to get inoculated against Covid was like the segregation, persecution and the murder of the Jews. [2] Scarcely less obscene are the “neo-Nazi” slurs directed at President Zelensky’s government in Ukraine by their Kremlin aggressors.
But does the Trumpian regime and kindred Alt-Right movements and governments across the globe fit more comfortably under another ideological canvass such as national populism rather than that belongs to a specific time period in history, namely the fascist movements of Europe of the inter-war years? Can the ideological genealogy and temporal circumstances of the Europe of the 1920s and 1930s really be mapped onto contemporary America? Because he is such as a recognisable American stereotype in his vulgarity, hucksterism and absolute worship of money and real estate, does any comparison between Trump and the fascist tyrants of yesteryear fit although certainly he shares with Hitler and Mussolini a love of the broadcast spectacle.[3]
At the outset, Buruma does acknowledge the difficulties in pinning down an exact form of fascism. For it has appeared in so many different manifestations: Mussolini’s quasi-Roman fascism; the racism and foundational antisemitism of German Nazism; the clerical fascism or National Catholicism of Spain’s Franco and Portugal’s Salazar; Japanese emperor worship; Romanian Orthodox Christian fascism; French anti-republican fascism; Flemish ethno-fascism and so on.[4]
But he does pull together common threads. For twentieth century fascist movements were cults whose members and adherents worshipped at the temples of speed, modernity, youth, revolutionary spirit, and a longing for an imaginary lost greatness. They are characterised by an almost eroticised love of force, rhetorical or real. Mussolini had his Squadristi; Hitler had the Brownshirts; the Romanians had the “death squads” of the Iron Guard; Franco had the Falange and within the British Isles there were the more transitory Blackshirts of Oswald Mosley and the Blueshirts of Eoin O’Duffy.
At the outset, Buruma does acknowledge the difficulties in pinning down an exact form of fascism. For it has appeared in so many different manifestations: Mussolini’s quasi-Roman fascism; the racism and foundational antisemitism of German Nazism; the clerical fascism or National Catholicism of Spain’s Franco and Portugal’s Salazar; Japanese emperor worship; Romanian Orthodox Christian fascism; French anti-republican fascism; Flemish ethno-fascism and so on.[4]
But he does pull together common threads. For twentieth century fascist movements were cults whose members and adherents worshipped at the temples of speed, modernity, youth, revolutionary spirit, and a longing for an imaginary lost greatness. They are characterised by an almost eroticised love of force, rhetorical or real. Mussolini had his Squadristi; Hitler had the Brownshirts; the Romanians had the “death squads” of the Iron Guard; Franco had the Falange and within the British Isles there were the more transitory Blackshirts of Oswald Mosley and the Blueshirts of Eoin O’Duffy.
As in most revolutionary movements, fascists saw a violence as a means to create a new order. The brutal experience of the First World War, and in Germany, the humiliation of defeat combined with the male camaraderie of the trenches to cement a loathing of parliamentary democracy which they viewed as a corrupt system run by soft, selfish, and dishonest elites cosseted by privilege and comfort. Political parties were just platforms for venal interests (or in the contemporary refrain, “they are all the same” or “they are just in it for themselves) and they hated bourgeois intellectuals, modern artists, international bankers, independent scientists or other emissaries of free enquiry which meant hatred of the Jews commonly associated with such “decadence” (incidentally the resemblance between this catalogue of hatreds and those of the “class enemies” of ultra-left movements like Mao’s Red Guards and the Khmer Rouge are quite striking).
In place of the decadent, democratic order, would be a unified state, where class differences would be dissolved under the leadership of a charismatic strongman. Under fascism, as in totalitarian states generally, parties representing different interests and independent trade unions were banned and the individual was incorporated into a collective mass and reinvented as political soldiers loyal to their Fuhrer/Duce/Caudillo whose word was law. As Herman Goering put it: “Hitler is the law” and, in the words of his boss in the 1940s, “What am I? I am nothing but the spokesman of the German Volk.”[5]
Having sketched out on the canvass the broad outlines of fascism, Buruma acknowledges that comparisons with Hitler and Mussolini may not be helpful or appropriate as, regardless of his possible aspirations to be such, Trump is not a dictator. Nor has he committed acts of mass murder. However there are disturbing echoes of the fascist era around how the MAGA (Make America Great Again) movement orbits around what the Germans called, the Fuhrerprinzip, the cult of the leader. For without Trump’s personal hold over his followers and most of the Republican Party, MAGA would be confined to the rancid margins of social and political discourse. Trump luxuriates in mass rallies where his long, meandering speeches hit the spots of the fear, anger, and vengeful emotions of the crowd, convulsed by economic disparities and deindustrialisation and bewildered by global hi-tech. The MAGA crowds are not roused by ideas but by the promise of the restoration of the lost era when “America was Great” and by aggressive, threatening slogans like “Lock Her Up” and “Drain the Swamp.”
Buruma notes how Trump employs the classic strongman weapon of selecting specific groups for ill treatment. Migrants from “shithole countries” are denigrated as “animals;” they “eat pets;” they are “not human;” they are “drug dealers, criminals, rapists” (Mexicans) or “garbage” (Somalia). Such groups represent classic scapegoats for the fears and resentments of the most devoted of the demagogue’s followers. The invective directed at such out-groups serves as a prelude to their isolation and persecution as exemplified by the performative cruelty of Trump’s mass deportation programmes and their zealous implementation by his ICE shock troops, comparisons of which to Brownshirts may be, in Buruma’s words “an exaggeration but not much.”
Having sketched out on the canvass the broad outlines of fascism, Buruma acknowledges that comparisons with Hitler and Mussolini may not be helpful or appropriate as, regardless of his possible aspirations to be such, Trump is not a dictator. Nor has he committed acts of mass murder. However there are disturbing echoes of the fascist era around how the MAGA (Make America Great Again) movement orbits around what the Germans called, the Fuhrerprinzip, the cult of the leader. For without Trump’s personal hold over his followers and most of the Republican Party, MAGA would be confined to the rancid margins of social and political discourse. Trump luxuriates in mass rallies where his long, meandering speeches hit the spots of the fear, anger, and vengeful emotions of the crowd, convulsed by economic disparities and deindustrialisation and bewildered by global hi-tech. The MAGA crowds are not roused by ideas but by the promise of the restoration of the lost era when “America was Great” and by aggressive, threatening slogans like “Lock Her Up” and “Drain the Swamp.”
Buruma notes how Trump employs the classic strongman weapon of selecting specific groups for ill treatment. Migrants from “shithole countries” are denigrated as “animals;” they “eat pets;” they are “not human;” they are “drug dealers, criminals, rapists” (Mexicans) or “garbage” (Somalia). Such groups represent classic scapegoats for the fears and resentments of the most devoted of the demagogue’s followers. The invective directed at such out-groups serves as a prelude to their isolation and persecution as exemplified by the performative cruelty of Trump’s mass deportation programmes and their zealous implementation by his ICE shock troops, comparisons of which to Brownshirts may be, in Buruma’s words “an exaggeration but not much.”
For the use of this state-sanctioned militia to effectively intimidate political opponents in Democrat-run cities and to project strength rather than the upholding of law based on consent is surely a replication of the acts of force majeure typically carried out in authoritarian states not in democracies which pride themselves on the rule of law and the separation of powers. The open embrace of violence is yet another blast from the past from the dark eras of history. At a rally in Pennsylvania, Trump said he “wouldn’t mind if someone were to “shoot through the fake news,” gesturing at reporters, whom he called “bloodsuckers.” [6] And, of course, the events of January-6-2021 illustrate the propensity for MAGA followers to engage in violence to thwart the outcomes of democratic elections in the successful manner of Franco in 1936 and Pinochet in 1973 and the failure of the French far right forces in their attack on the National Assembly on 6 February 1934 in the Veterans Riot which was intended to overthrow the leftist government democratically elected in 1934.
And the other parallel with European inter-war fascism is hatred of the elites: the afore mentioned universities, law firms, international financiers, and journalists. While not on the scale of the mass burning of books and the 1937 Exhibition of degenerate art in Nazi Germany, Trumpian America is becoming an increasingly chilly house for free enquiry academia and culture. For, as part of an anti-woke crusade, Trump in March 2025 signed an executive order targeting the Smithsonian Institute and the museums and memorials overseen by the Department of the Interior. The order directed Vice President JD Vance, who sits on the board of the Smithsonian, to eliminate “improper, divisive and anti-American ideology” from the museums and to work with Congress to keep from funding exhibits or programmes that “divide America by race.”[7] In this way kulturkampf has become a weapon of choice for Trump’s second administration.
Furthermore, Trumpland’s culture war is fought on perverse and contradictory terms. Arrests of and threatened deportations of pro-Palestinian student protests and the harassment of liberal professors on Ivy League campuses are carried out on the rationale of the protection of Jewish students from antisemitism while at the same time a Trump campaign ad pushes the openly antisemitic trope of Jewish control of world finance by featuring the prominent Jewish bankers George Soros, Lloyd Blankfein and Janet Yellen, portraying them as part of an international conspiracy to plunder American wealth and rob American workers.[8]
Writing admittedly near the end of Trump’s administration in 2019, David Renton urges caution to be exercised around the articulation of ideas that suggest Trump is a potential tyrant or that he veers towards fascism.[9] He invokes ‘Godwin’s Law”, an invention of online discussion moderators whose maxim is that the longer an online discussion continues the greater the likelihood that one or other of the participants will compare someone to Hitler. The point of the rule is to guard against hyperbole; to warn against the cheapening of the term “fascism” to simply to describe somebody or something one does not like. In his refutation of the description of Trump as a ‘creeping fascist’ by the British left-wing historians Neil Faulkner and Sam Duthi, Renton argues that it is the most loaded of terms, associated with different kinds of experience; with a political party characterised by top down leadership and a one-party state, with the suffering of millions of people, and with broader notions of intolerance. In the model of Faulkner, Duthi and other leftist polemicists, the fascism of the past was a tool to destroy a rising socialist movement; its counterpart today arises out of the confidence of the right.[10]
Renton contests this narrative by asserting that many of the characteristics attributed to fascism, for example, that it is a middle-class protest movement map do not merge seamlessly onto the circumstances of today. Part of Trump’s base, certainly at the point of emergence of the Trump movement, has been a generation of underemployed male internet warriors who grew out of the gaming world and who in cyberspace congregated around the website Breitbart. This cohort of young men are college-educated and compete for a narrowing pool of professional jobs, often while depending on the bank of Mum and Dad to cover the costs of their student loans. Sociologically, comparisons with the social layers that comprised interwar fascist movements hardly stacks up in Renton’s analysis. He cites Gramsci’s account of how the Italian state was maintained at a lower level by military bureaucrats chosen from a caste of wealthy landowners who had sound reason to fear for their privileges in the event of a Communist revolution, while in Germany, students, teachers and junior civil servants were also committed to the maintenance of their status difference from the mass factory proletariat. In both countries, the fascists found their first recruits among such occupational strata, rather than industrial workers, who were immunised by a sub-culture of workers’ clubs and socialist unions and newspapers. Everywhere in Europe, university students were a major social basis of fascism.[11]
By contrast in MAGA land, the alt-right has attacked the universities, not because it expects to win recruits there but in the same vein that Italian fascism once attacked the socialists their trade union halls – to intimidate its most resolute enemies in the spaces where they should feel strongest and most secure. Eighty to ninety years on from the era of European fascism, the American state does not depend on the support of a caste of aristocrats. [12] Nor can the left claim to have the same organic link to the working classes as it enjoyed prior to fascism for a myriad of reasons including deindustrialisation, class and electoral dealignment, the long-term decline in trade unionism, the migration of class signifiers from the occupational to cultural milieux and the insecure, precarian nature of work. In many respects, the tragedy of Trump and the global Alt-Right is the distancing, if not disassociation, of the forces of labour from the forces of social (woke?) progressivism.
Having drawn out the sociological contrasts between classic fascist movements and the landscape of Trump and MAGA, a closer examination of the ideological complexion of the Alt-Right is required in order to come to a verdict as to whether Trump is a fascist or not. |A coherent description of contemporary Alt-Right ideology is given in Bloomfield and Edgar’s booklet The Little Black Book of the Populist Right who develop the concept of national populism and its overlap and divergence from classical fascism. National populism on their account is an amalgam of a multiplicity of right-wing forces who coalesce to exploit the failings of the neo-liberal establishment and its economic orthodoxies. Former fascists have remerged from the shadows; ‘post-fascist’ parties seek to sanitise their image; new right-wing populist parties have emerged; some existing conservative (the GOP certainly and the British Conservative Party in real danger of it) have been infiltrated and taken over.[13]
National populism shares a number of political characteristics with fascist parties to its right: nationalism, xenophobia, glorification of an idealised national culture, an identified threat from an excluded ‘other,’ an anti-global conspiracy theory and a charismatic leader (for example Nigel Farage, Mario Silvini, Marine Le Pen). National populists have popularised a new lexicon of terms to stigmatise the ‘luxury beliefs’ and ‘virtue signalling’ of the ‘new elite.’ National populists have been major beneficiaries of the mythology that the ‘will of the people’ is being thwarted by a ‘woke’ establishment that is stoked by powerful press barons. National populism focuses on issues of culture, tradition, and identity but, in public at least, eschew the explicit racist and antisemitic themes of past fascist movements. However, demagogues like Trump, in their simple and intoxicating narratives about national decline and ‘American carnage’, do draw upon disturbing themes of pre-war far-right rhetoric - and Muslims and immigrants have become objects of fear and loathing. Just as Mussolini’s fascists chanted “God, fatherland and family’ (“Dio, patria, e famiglia”), a slogan which Prime Minister Georgia Meloni’s Brothers of Italy uses today, so in a 2017 speech in Warsaw, Donald Trump spoke up for “family, for freedom, for country and for God”.[14]
While Bloomfield and Edgar note the ideological affinities between fascists and national populists and acknowledge that many of the latter parties are successors to the former, they also caution that they are not the same. Casting the definitional net of ‘fascism’ so wide so as to encompass all that is unpleasant or dangerous on the right risks the failure to recognise the real thing when it emerges.[15] However, the popularity of the Great Replacement Theory and Soros and Rothschild theories within the New Populist Right and the capacity of social media algorithms to radicalise millions of the disaffected online poses real potential for the racial conflicts and worse in the near future as their roles in the Rohingya genocide in Myanmar, the Buddhist extremist incited pogrom against Muslims in Sri Lanka and the anti-immigrant riots in England and Northern Ireland in the summer of 2024 illustrate.
Lastly on whether it matters if Trump is a generic fascist or not; the outworking of Project 2025, the transformative Heritage Foundation plan for permanent conservative revolution, in the wake of his 2024 PE victory offers plenty of raw material for a study of a proto-fascist USA. As does the progressive neutering of America’s democratic guardrails and Trump’s uniquely erratic style of rule in which the truth and reality become daily shape shifting phenomena in a manner that George Orwell would recognise. Perhaps the major caveat is that fascism took root in fairly homogenous nation states whereas the USA is not a European style nation state but rather an ideal meant to transcend ethnic and religious divisions. If Trump 2.0 is the harbinger of the end of this ideal; it could well be in a post-Civil War fracturing of the Union into mini states and territories.
And the other parallel with European inter-war fascism is hatred of the elites: the afore mentioned universities, law firms, international financiers, and journalists. While not on the scale of the mass burning of books and the 1937 Exhibition of degenerate art in Nazi Germany, Trumpian America is becoming an increasingly chilly house for free enquiry academia and culture. For, as part of an anti-woke crusade, Trump in March 2025 signed an executive order targeting the Smithsonian Institute and the museums and memorials overseen by the Department of the Interior. The order directed Vice President JD Vance, who sits on the board of the Smithsonian, to eliminate “improper, divisive and anti-American ideology” from the museums and to work with Congress to keep from funding exhibits or programmes that “divide America by race.”[7] In this way kulturkampf has become a weapon of choice for Trump’s second administration.
Furthermore, Trumpland’s culture war is fought on perverse and contradictory terms. Arrests of and threatened deportations of pro-Palestinian student protests and the harassment of liberal professors on Ivy League campuses are carried out on the rationale of the protection of Jewish students from antisemitism while at the same time a Trump campaign ad pushes the openly antisemitic trope of Jewish control of world finance by featuring the prominent Jewish bankers George Soros, Lloyd Blankfein and Janet Yellen, portraying them as part of an international conspiracy to plunder American wealth and rob American workers.[8]
Writing admittedly near the end of Trump’s administration in 2019, David Renton urges caution to be exercised around the articulation of ideas that suggest Trump is a potential tyrant or that he veers towards fascism.[9] He invokes ‘Godwin’s Law”, an invention of online discussion moderators whose maxim is that the longer an online discussion continues the greater the likelihood that one or other of the participants will compare someone to Hitler. The point of the rule is to guard against hyperbole; to warn against the cheapening of the term “fascism” to simply to describe somebody or something one does not like. In his refutation of the description of Trump as a ‘creeping fascist’ by the British left-wing historians Neil Faulkner and Sam Duthi, Renton argues that it is the most loaded of terms, associated with different kinds of experience; with a political party characterised by top down leadership and a one-party state, with the suffering of millions of people, and with broader notions of intolerance. In the model of Faulkner, Duthi and other leftist polemicists, the fascism of the past was a tool to destroy a rising socialist movement; its counterpart today arises out of the confidence of the right.[10]
Renton contests this narrative by asserting that many of the characteristics attributed to fascism, for example, that it is a middle-class protest movement map do not merge seamlessly onto the circumstances of today. Part of Trump’s base, certainly at the point of emergence of the Trump movement, has been a generation of underemployed male internet warriors who grew out of the gaming world and who in cyberspace congregated around the website Breitbart. This cohort of young men are college-educated and compete for a narrowing pool of professional jobs, often while depending on the bank of Mum and Dad to cover the costs of their student loans. Sociologically, comparisons with the social layers that comprised interwar fascist movements hardly stacks up in Renton’s analysis. He cites Gramsci’s account of how the Italian state was maintained at a lower level by military bureaucrats chosen from a caste of wealthy landowners who had sound reason to fear for their privileges in the event of a Communist revolution, while in Germany, students, teachers and junior civil servants were also committed to the maintenance of their status difference from the mass factory proletariat. In both countries, the fascists found their first recruits among such occupational strata, rather than industrial workers, who were immunised by a sub-culture of workers’ clubs and socialist unions and newspapers. Everywhere in Europe, university students were a major social basis of fascism.[11]
By contrast in MAGA land, the alt-right has attacked the universities, not because it expects to win recruits there but in the same vein that Italian fascism once attacked the socialists their trade union halls – to intimidate its most resolute enemies in the spaces where they should feel strongest and most secure. Eighty to ninety years on from the era of European fascism, the American state does not depend on the support of a caste of aristocrats. [12] Nor can the left claim to have the same organic link to the working classes as it enjoyed prior to fascism for a myriad of reasons including deindustrialisation, class and electoral dealignment, the long-term decline in trade unionism, the migration of class signifiers from the occupational to cultural milieux and the insecure, precarian nature of work. In many respects, the tragedy of Trump and the global Alt-Right is the distancing, if not disassociation, of the forces of labour from the forces of social (woke?) progressivism.
Having drawn out the sociological contrasts between classic fascist movements and the landscape of Trump and MAGA, a closer examination of the ideological complexion of the Alt-Right is required in order to come to a verdict as to whether Trump is a fascist or not. |A coherent description of contemporary Alt-Right ideology is given in Bloomfield and Edgar’s booklet The Little Black Book of the Populist Right who develop the concept of national populism and its overlap and divergence from classical fascism. National populism on their account is an amalgam of a multiplicity of right-wing forces who coalesce to exploit the failings of the neo-liberal establishment and its economic orthodoxies. Former fascists have remerged from the shadows; ‘post-fascist’ parties seek to sanitise their image; new right-wing populist parties have emerged; some existing conservative (the GOP certainly and the British Conservative Party in real danger of it) have been infiltrated and taken over.[13]
National populism shares a number of political characteristics with fascist parties to its right: nationalism, xenophobia, glorification of an idealised national culture, an identified threat from an excluded ‘other,’ an anti-global conspiracy theory and a charismatic leader (for example Nigel Farage, Mario Silvini, Marine Le Pen). National populists have popularised a new lexicon of terms to stigmatise the ‘luxury beliefs’ and ‘virtue signalling’ of the ‘new elite.’ National populists have been major beneficiaries of the mythology that the ‘will of the people’ is being thwarted by a ‘woke’ establishment that is stoked by powerful press barons. National populism focuses on issues of culture, tradition, and identity but, in public at least, eschew the explicit racist and antisemitic themes of past fascist movements. However, demagogues like Trump, in their simple and intoxicating narratives about national decline and ‘American carnage’, do draw upon disturbing themes of pre-war far-right rhetoric - and Muslims and immigrants have become objects of fear and loathing. Just as Mussolini’s fascists chanted “God, fatherland and family’ (“Dio, patria, e famiglia”), a slogan which Prime Minister Georgia Meloni’s Brothers of Italy uses today, so in a 2017 speech in Warsaw, Donald Trump spoke up for “family, for freedom, for country and for God”.[14]
While Bloomfield and Edgar note the ideological affinities between fascists and national populists and acknowledge that many of the latter parties are successors to the former, they also caution that they are not the same. Casting the definitional net of ‘fascism’ so wide so as to encompass all that is unpleasant or dangerous on the right risks the failure to recognise the real thing when it emerges.[15] However, the popularity of the Great Replacement Theory and Soros and Rothschild theories within the New Populist Right and the capacity of social media algorithms to radicalise millions of the disaffected online poses real potential for the racial conflicts and worse in the near future as their roles in the Rohingya genocide in Myanmar, the Buddhist extremist incited pogrom against Muslims in Sri Lanka and the anti-immigrant riots in England and Northern Ireland in the summer of 2024 illustrate.
Lastly on whether it matters if Trump is a generic fascist or not; the outworking of Project 2025, the transformative Heritage Foundation plan for permanent conservative revolution, in the wake of his 2024 PE victory offers plenty of raw material for a study of a proto-fascist USA. As does the progressive neutering of America’s democratic guardrails and Trump’s uniquely erratic style of rule in which the truth and reality become daily shape shifting phenomena in a manner that George Orwell would recognise. Perhaps the major caveat is that fascism took root in fairly homogenous nation states whereas the USA is not a European style nation state but rather an ideal meant to transcend ethnic and religious divisions. If Trump 2.0 is the harbinger of the end of this ideal; it could well be in a post-Civil War fracturing of the Union into mini states and territories.
References
[1] Ian Buruma, Is America Becoming a Fascist State. The Observer New Review. 1 March 2026 pp.8-11
[2] Ibid, p.9
[3]
[4] Ibid
[5] Ibid
[6] Ibid
[7] Jennifer Varasco and Elizabeth Blair. How will Trump’s executive order affect the Smithsonian. NPR Culture. 30 March 2025
[8] Buruma, p.10
[9] David Renton. (2019) The New Authoritarians, Convergence on the Right. London: Pluto Press p.103
[10] Ibid, p.104
[11] Ibid, p.105
[12] Ibid, pp.105-06
[13] Jon Bloomfield and David Edgar (2024). The Little Black Book of the Populist Right. London: Byline Books p.10
[14] Ibid, pp.10-11
[15] Ibid, pp.11-12
[1] Ian Buruma, Is America Becoming a Fascist State. The Observer New Review. 1 March 2026 pp.8-11
[2] Ibid, p.9
[3]
[4] Ibid
[5] Ibid
[6] Ibid
[7] Jennifer Varasco and Elizabeth Blair. How will Trump’s executive order affect the Smithsonian. NPR Culture. 30 March 2025
[8] Buruma, p.10
[9] David Renton. (2019) The New Authoritarians, Convergence on the Right. London: Pluto Press p.103
[10] Ibid, p.104
[11] Ibid, p.105
[12] Ibid, pp.105-06
[13] Jon Bloomfield and David Edgar (2024). The Little Black Book of the Populist Right. London: Byline Books p.10
[14] Ibid, pp.10-11
[15] Ibid, pp.11-12
⏩Barry Gilheany is a freelance writer, qualified counsellor and aspirant artist resident in Colchester where he took his PhD at the University of Essex. He is also a lifelong Leeds United supporter.
