Under the guise of patriotism
On February 20, 1939, Madison Square Garden hosted one of the most unsettling events in American history: a Nazi rally organized by the German American Bund. This rally, led by Bund chief Fritz Julius Kuhn, attracted an estimated 20,000 supporters, marking an overt attempt to promote fascist ideologies on American soil. It aimed to construct a U.S. version of Nazism, blending extreme nationalism, anti-Semitism, and authoritarianism under a twisted interpretation of "true Americanism."
The event revealed how easily fascist movements could exploit economic and social turmoil to introduce radical, anti-democratic ideals into society. As a historical moment, it underscores the vulnerability of democratic values during times of national crisis, reminding us of the resilience required to protect them. Nationalism, one of the core elements promoted at the rally, is an ideology that places loyalty to one’s nation above all else, often elevating national interests and fostering a sense of superiority that can lead to the exclusion or denigration of other groups. Anti-Semitism, another deeply troubling component of the rally, refers to prejudice, hatred, or discrimination directed at Jewish people, rooted in harmful stereotypes, misconceptions, and conspiracy theories. Finally, authoritarianism—the desire for centralized power and suppression of dissent—was present, marked by calls for limited political freedoms and an order that justified control over individual liberties.
In the lead-up to the 1939 rally, the United States was grappling with the Great Depression’s prolonged devastation. Millions were unemployed, and economic recovery was slow and uneven. Many Americans were anxious about the nation’s direction and unsettled by the rise of totalitarianism in Europe, with Nazi Germany gaining momentum under Hitler’s leadership. As fears of communism spread, the Bund positioned itself as a voice for disillusioned Americans, channeling frustrations into a movement that paralleled Nazi values, though with an American façade.
The German American Bund, formally organized in 1936, was structured much like the Nazi Party, with ranks, uniforms, and youth programs aimed at instilling a fascist ideology in German-American communities. Its rallies often resembled those held by the Nazis in Germany, with salutes, flags, and marches that reinforced a militaristic, authoritarian identity. By 1939, the Bund’s efforts were explicitly anti-Semitic and racially exclusionary, capitalizing on anti-communist sentiment to gain support from Americans who felt vulnerable and were suspicious of global conflicts. In Kuhn’s eyes, the Bund was the only organization that could protect “pure Americanism” from what he called “Jewish conspiracies” and liberal “plots.”
The Madison Square Garden rally was branded as a “Pro-American Rally” to appeal to a broader swath of Americans under a banner of patriotism. The venue was decorated with swastikas alongside American flags, and giant banners with phrases like “Stop Jewish Domination of Christian America” conveyed the Bund’s message clearly. Fritz Kuhn’s speech delivered vitriol against Jewish people, accusing them of economic sabotage and manipulation, and calling for “racial purity” in America. He condemned mainstream media as dishonest and accused political elites of undermining the nation’s values—a tactic to stoke resentment and further legitimize the Bund’s far-right agenda.
Attendees included uniformed Bund members, sympathizers, and some German Americans drawn in by the rhetoric of ethnic pride. Protesters also gathered outside, numbering in the thousands and representing a diverse coalition of Americans opposed to the Bund’s ideology. Many of these protestors were union members, Jewish activists, and New York residents appalled by the Bund’s message. Clashes erupted outside as anti-fascist demonstrators confronted rallygoers, highlighting the deep societal tensions that the Bund’s ideology provoked. The event was heavily policed, but confrontations were unavoidable, underscoring the rally’s controversial nature.
The rally’s disturbing success in attracting supporters revealed the vulnerabilities within American society at the time. While most Americans rejected the Bund’s ideology, the fact that 20,000 people were drawn to the event demonstrated how fear and economic instability could be exploited to advance anti-democratic ideas. The Nazi Bund’s “Americanization” of fascism illustrated how authoritarianism can be repackaged to appeal to local audiences, using national symbols to create a sense of legitimacy.
On October 27, 2024, Donald Trump held a rally at New York's Madison Square Garden, which featured speeches containing crude and racist remarks. Comedian Tony Hinchcliffe made offensive jokes targeting Puerto Ricans, Latinos, Jews, and Black people. Other speakers, including former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani and media personality Tucker Carlson, delivered speeches that were criticized for their derogatory content. The event drew comparisons to the 1939 pro-Nazi rally held at the same venue, with some observers noting similarities in the rhetoric and atmosphere.
With just over a week before Election Day, speakers at the rally Sunday night labeled Puerto Rico a “floating island of garbage,” called Democratic Vice President Kamala Harris “the Antichrist” and “the devil,” and said the woman vying to become the first woman and Black woman president had begun her career as a prostitute, stating that Harris “and her pimp handlers will destroy our country.”
Parallels between the Bund rally and some of Donald Trump’s rallies in recent years have not gone unnoticed by historians and political analysts. Trump’s rallies often blend American symbolism with highly divisive rhetoric, using nationalist appeals and casting suspicion on marginalized groups and the press. Just as Kuhn capitalized on economic hardships and societal divides to stoke resentment against “outsiders” and “elites,” Trump has tapped into contemporary anxieties, channeling them into grievances against various targets: immigrants, the “mainstream media,” and political opponents. Trump's platform, like that of the Bund, has often been marked by an "us vs. them" mentality that categorizes opponents as existential threats to American values.
The rise of Trumpism and the tone of his rallies reflect a different kind of political messaging that, while unique to the 21st century, draws from the same undercurrents of frustration and fear that fueled the Bund’s movement. In both instances, a portion of the population feels alienated and disregarded by mainstream politics, leading them to embrace a figure who promises radical change, even if it means destabilizing democratic norms. Trump’s rhetoric about a “rigged system,” his accusations of widespread conspiracies against him, and his disdain for checks on his authority echo some of the grievances and authoritarian tendencies that Bund leaders espoused. For example, during his 2024 campaign, Trump’s messages about purging the “deep state” or targeting his political opponents, including legal officials, echo tactics aimed at undermining institutional safeguards against authoritarianism.
Both the Bund rally and Trump’s rallies share a focus on reclaiming an idealized version of America, one free from perceived corruption, cultural change, or external influence. In 1939, Kuhn’s call for an Aryan-centric America bore a chilling resemblance to the racial purity themes of Nazi Germany. Today, Trump’s calls for stronger immigration laws and his rhetoric on “restoring” American greatness resonate similarly with those who feel displaced by a rapidly changing society. While Trump does not explicitly advocate for racial purity, his rhetoric around immigration and national identity has at times courted white nationalist groups, suggesting a prioritization of a particular vision of America that aligns with the desires of those who feel excluded from today’s multicultural society.
Moreover, both movements demonstrate the impact of propaganda in shaping public opinion. The Bund used speeches, rallies, and pamphlets to disseminate Nazi propaganda, casting America’s democratic institutions as vulnerable to corruption by outsiders. Similarly, Trump’s campaign strategy has leveraged social media, cable news, and mass rallies to shape public opinion and portray himself as the last bastion of “real” American values. Just as Kuhn positioned himself as a defender of a morally upright America against internal threats, Trump has portrayed his opponents as enemies of the people, fostering a climate where political polarization has deepened dangerously.
It is critical, however, to recognize the differences between the 1939 Nazi rally and modern-day political events in America. While Trump’s rallies may share some similarities in tone and rhetoric with the Bund’s rally, they operate within a different political and cultural landscape. The U.S. has established more robust safeguards against extremism, and public awareness of historical fascism is more prominent today. Moreover, while Trump’s rallies often feature controversial rhetoric, they do not openly endorse the violent ideologies that the Bund championed. Nonetheless, the presence of authoritarian themes and the demonization of certain groups or institutions remains concerning for those who value democratic norms.
The legacy of the 1939 rally serves as a powerful reminder of the dangers posed by charismatic figures who exploit societal grievances to push anti-democratic agendas. By examining the parallels between the Bund’s rally and the modern political climate, we gain a clearer understanding of the ways authoritarianism can creep into public discourse. It underscores the need for vigilance and critical engagement in a time when democracy faces both domestic and international pressures.
While criticism of Republican rallies, particularly ones like the recent Trump event at Madison Square Garden, often focuses on the overt xenophobia, racism, and sexism displayed by speakers, Democratic figures like Vice President Kamala Harris tend to face criticism that is more focused on her personal demeanor or communication style rather than policy or messaging content. Harris, for instance, is often critiqued by opponents for her laugh, a feature her critics label as insincere or exaggerated, implying a lack of seriousness or authenticity. Another frequent point of critique is her adaptation of dialect to relate to different audiences, which opponents paint as patronizing or pandering. This critique suggests that Harris is performing rather than genuinely connecting with constituents, an accusation often tied to racial and gendered stereotypes about how she "should" present herself. These criticisms lack the aggressive rhetoric found in Republican rally critiques, as they seldom address policy and instead focus on Harris's presentation, perceived "likability," and stylistic choices.
This distinction in critiques reflects a deeper political reality: opponents of Kamala Harris and similar Democratic figures may struggle to find substantive issues with her policies or her treatment of different groups. In turn, they often resort to attacks on her personal attributes—like her laugh, dialect, or general demeanor—as accessible, albeit superficial, targets. These critiques serve as low-hanging fruit, easier to latch onto than nuanced debates around policy, because they capitalize on visual and behavioral cues that can be amplified for quick political gain.
This focus on Harris’s presentation highlights a frequent double standard in political critiques: while male politicians are often judged more by their policy decisions and leadership choices, female leaders, especially women of color like Harris, are disproportionately scrutinized for their mannerisms, voice, and even appearance. The underlying message is that there’s less substance to critique, so the conversation shifts to attributes that play into stereotypes and prejudices—especially regarding how Harris "should" behave or speak to appear "authentic" or "relatable."
In this way, the criticisms reveal more about the biases of her opponents than about Harris herself. Rather than engaging with her on a policy level, her critics tend to fixate on behavior that can be framed negatively to suit their narrative. This tactic is effective in its simplicity: it requires little context, evokes quick emotional responses, and sidesteps the complexities of policy debate. However, it ultimately speaks to a lack of concrete critique, relying instead on reinforcing personal and, often, gendered or racial biases to divert attention from substantive discussion.
This approach is typical of the nationalist and populist playbook, which often relies on emotionally charged, surface-level attacks rather than engaging in substantive policy debates. By focusing on personal traits—whether it’s a laugh, an accent, or mannerisms—populist leaders and their supporters can create a relatable narrative for their base that distracts from deeper political issues. Rather than debating policies on healthcare, education, or foreign relations, they pivot to quick, accessible critiques that are easy to digest and play on biases about how a leader "should" look, speak, or behave.
This strategy works well within nationalist and populist frameworks because it builds on a sense of "us versus them." It reinforces stereotypes that align with nationalistic ideals of authenticity and loyalty, which, for these movements, can be defined in narrow and often exclusionary terms. By targeting Harris's personal traits, populist figures can appeal to these ideals, suggesting that those who do not fit this mold are somehow disingenuous or out of touch with the "real" people. This tactic isn't new; it’s a standard in the behavior of nationalist and populist leaders, one that dismisses complex issues and shifts attention to the most accessible points of attack, fostering a sense of shared grievance among supporters.
In the absence of a genuine critique of policy, it effectively sidesteps meaningful discourse and leverages perceived cultural differences. It’s a tactic that speaks to the power of nationalist and populist rhetoric: to simplify, to caricature, and to redirect discussions away from actual policies that might reveal common ground or demand nuanced consideration. Instead, it keeps focus on divisive, identity-based politics, which, though shallow, have proven time and again to be highly effective tools for rallying populist support.
Nationalism and populism, particularly when combined with divisive rhetoric, can pose significant risks to democracy by fostering social division, eroding democratic norms, and undermining trust in institutions. Historically, this potent blend has fueled authoritarian movements by exploiting citizens' fears, frustrations, and desires for change, often redirecting them toward scapegoats or perceived “outsiders.”
Nationalism and populism, when combined with divisive rhetoric, often prioritize loyalty to a particular leader, ideology, or "in-group" over democratic institutions themselves. Populist leaders, in particular, may portray themselves as the sole voice of “the people,” casting institutions like the judiciary, legislature, and free press as obstacles rather than as essential checks and balances. This approach can delegitimize institutions, diminishing the public’s trust in the systems that are supposed to protect their rights. For example, when leaders claim that elections are “rigged” or the media is “the enemy of the people,” they sow seeds of distrust, making it easier for the public to support extralegal or undemocratic measures.
Democracy depends not just on laws but on norms—unwritten rules about civility, respect, and mutual toleration among competing political actors. Nationalist and populist rhetoric erodes these norms. By vilifying opposition as traitorous or corrupt, populist leaders may delegitimize political opponents rather than view them as members of a pluralistic society. This trend often results in polarized electorates that see compromise as betrayal rather than as a necessary aspect of democratic governance. Over time, the absence of respect for opposing viewpoints weakens democracy’s foundation, making cooperative policymaking nearly impossible.
Divisive rhetoric in nationalism and populism frequently involves identifying and scapegoating “outsiders” or “enemies”—whether ethnic minorities, immigrants, religious groups, or political ideologies. This strategy can create an intense “us versus them” mentality, portraying certain groups as threats to the “true” nation or “the people.” This portrayal not only marginalizes minority communities but also undermines the democratic principle of equal rights for all citizens. Historically, this type of rhetoric has justified exclusionary policies, such as restrictive immigration laws, racial profiling, and even state violence against targeted groups, all of which are incompatible with democratic ideals.
Nationalist and populist leaders often view dissent as a threat to national unity or loyalty to the state. They may resort to censorship, crackdowns on free speech, or surveillance to suppress opposition voices. Leaders may label critics as “anti-national” or “unpatriotic,” framing dissent not as an essential democratic right but as an existential threat. In this way, nationalism and populism can curtail open dialogue, one of democracy’s pillars, by stifling alternative viewpoints and pressuring citizens into ideological conformity.
Divisive rhetoric exacerbates polarization, pulling citizens further apart on ideological lines and creating echo chambers where compromise becomes increasingly difficult. When political divisions become entrenched, society can fragment, with individuals becoming unwilling to view those with opposing views as part of the same national community. In extreme cases, this level of polarization can foster social unrest and even political violence, as seen in numerous historical and contemporary instances where political rhetoric inflamed passions to the point of violence.
These leaders often position themselves as strong figures who can “restore” the nation’s greatness or protect it from imagined threats. By tapping into fear and resentment, they may accumulate power under the guise of safeguarding the nation, leading to authoritarian practices such as extending executive powers, undermining independent courts, or bypassing democratic processes. This tendency was evident in the rise of fascist regimes in the early 20th century, where populist-nationalist leaders used the perceived failures of democracy to justify consolidating authoritarian power.
What we’re witnessing in America is reminiscent of the early stages of nationalism and populism that paved the way for movements like the Nazi Party and the rise of Hitler. Many people ask how the German public could have allowed such a horrific regime to take power. The truth is, it didn’t happen overnight; it happened incrementally, through a series of calculated appeals to nationalism and popular discontent. Hitler harnessed messages of national pride, grievance, and unity against supposed "outsiders" to build a movement grounded in tribalism, misinformation, and propaganda.
By creating enemies and scapegoats, Hitler tapped into people's fears, prejudices, and economic anxieties, channeling them toward his vision of a powerful, unified Germany. Each step forward was justified in terms of “protecting” German identity, “restoring” national pride, and "reclaiming" prosperity—messages designed to resonate with everyday Germans grappling with the struggles of post-World War I life. The propaganda was potent, simplifying complex issues into digestible enemies and shifting blame for society’s ills to specific groups, all to consolidate his power.
Today, similar tactics re-emerge as leaders play on fear and division, framing policy and progress as threats to national identity. This playbook of misinformation, tribalism, and appeals to grievance relies on creating a common “enemy” against whom people can rally. It’s a pathway to power built on leveraging fears and stoking the perception of a society under threat, where complex challenges are transformed into simplistic narratives. The slow erosion of democratic norms, tolerance, and truth that history has shown can turn nationalism and populism into engines of division, setting the stage for further escalations that can lead to authoritarianism.
