The Atlantic‘s George Packer reflects on what he dubs “America’s Zombie Democracy.” His theme is that, while daily life isn’t much different for most Americans, authoritarianism is on the march. It just looks different from what we’ve been accustomed to in the past.
We have in our heads specific images of authoritarianism that come from the 20th century: uniformed men goose-stepping in jackboots, masses of people chanting party slogans, streets lined with giant portraits of the leader, secret opposition meetings in basements, interrogations under naked light bulbs, executions by firing squad. Similar things still happen—in China, North Korea, Iran. But I’d be surprised if this essay got me hauled off to prison in America. Authoritarianism in the 21st century looks different, because it is different. Political scientists have tried to find a new term for it: illiberal democracy, competitive authoritarianism, right-wing populism. In countries such as Hungary, Turkey, Venezuela, and India, democracies aren’t overthrown, nor do they collapse all at once. Instead, they erode. Opposition parties, the judiciary, the press, and civil-society groups aren’t destroyed, but over time they lose their life, staggering on like zombie institutions, giving the impression that democracy is still alive.
The blurred line between democracy and autocracy is an important feature of modern authoritarianism. How do we know when we’ve crossed it? These sorts of regimes have constitutions, but the teeth are missing. Elections take place, but they’re no longer truly fair or free—the party in power controls the electoral machinery, and if the results aren’t desirable, they’ll be challenged and likely overturned. To keep their jobs, civil servants have to prove not their competence but their personal loyalty to the leader. Independent government officers—prosecutors, inspectors general, federal commissioners, central bankers—are fired and their positions handed to flunkies. The legislature, in the hands of the ruling party, becomes a rubber stamp for the executive. Courts still hear cases, but judges are appointed for their political views, not their expertise, and their opinions, cloaked in neutral-sounding legal terms, predictably give the leader what he wants, endorsing his most illiberal policies and immunizing him from accountability. The rule of law amounts to favors for friends and persecution for enemies. The separation of powers turns out to be a paper-thin gentleman’s agreement. There are no meaningful checks on the leader’s power.
It’s not entirely clear that we’ve reached that point, but there are numerous indicators. We’ll almost certainly have congressional elections in November 2026, but they will be less free and fair than the ones that preceded them. And, while it’s possible that the Supreme Court will decide differently when cases come before them on the merits than they have on the Shadow Docket, I’m not holding my breath.
The firing of statisticians, lawyers, inspectors general, and others who stand in the way of administration policy has certainly had a chilling effect. And corporations and others who need regulatory approval to operate are rushing to bend the knee.
Packer sees another way in which what’s happening today differs from the past:
Does an ideology drive these regimes? Would they sacrifice everything for the survival of some almighty ism? Doubtful. Instead of ideologies, they have slogans without much content. Fascism, like communism, was a serious ideology—one that mobilized populations in some of the most advanced countries of the 20th century to throw away their freedoms, go hungry and work themselves to the bone, give their lives in struggle and war. Fascism was serious enough to produce a mountain of corpses.
Today’s authoritarianism doesn’t move people to heroic feats on behalf of the Fatherland. The leader and his cronies, in and out of government, use their positions to hold on to power and enrich themselves. Corruption becomes so routine that it’s expected; the public grows desensitized, and violations of ethical norms that would have caused outrage in any other time go barely noticed. The regime has no utopian visions of a classless or hierarchical society in a purified state. It doesn’t thrive on war. In fact, it asks very little of the people. At important political moments it mobilizes its core supporters with frenzies of hatred, but its overriding goal is to render most citizens passive. If the leader’s speech gets boring, you can even leave early (no one left Nuremberg early). Twenty-first-century authoritarianism keeps the public content with abundant calories and dazzling entertainment. Its dominant emotions aren’t euphoria and rage, but indifference and cynicism. Because most people still expect to have certain rights respected, blatant totalitarian mechanisms of repression are avoided. The most effective tools of control are distraction, confusion, and division.
I disagree that there’s no ideology at work. Most of the governments engaged in so-called “democratic backsliding” use some form of populist nationalism as their ostensible organizing principle. They leverage some other—whether it’s immigrants, secularists, or some combination of groups—that they see as corrupting the founding culture as a pretext for crackdown.
And, semantics aside, Packer agrees:
These regimes thrive on polarizing the electorate into us and them. Us is defined as the “real” people—often working-class, rural, less educated—who think of themselves as the traditional backbone of the country and the victims of rapid economic and social change: globalization, immigration, technology, new ideas about race and gender identity. Them are the elites who benefit from these changes, who have no loyalty to the country and its traditions, along with the aliens and minorities whom the elites use to undermine the national way of life. The leader speaks directly for the people and embodies their will against the people’s enemies. As defender of the nation, he claims the right to override any obstacles, legal or otherwise. Whatever he does is the rule of law.
Regardless, the result is stark:
Over time, society is hollowed out. Civic organizations that engage in public affairs hesitate to get too political for fear of drawing unwanted attention. Universities, churches, NGOs, and law firms mute themselves to stay in the good graces of the state, which has tremendous financial and regulatory power over them. The press isn’t silenced, but it is intimidated by demagogic rhetoric, investigations, and lawsuits, so that journalists are constantly asking themselves what the negative consequences of a particular story or opinion will be. Over time, the major media fall under the control of the leader’s friends, leaving a few independent outlets to struggle on in pursuit of the truth.
Simply having to consider how the state might respond creates a chilling effect. One naturally asks, “Is it worth it?” and makes compromises.
We’ve been there for a while. And this is to say nothing of the incendiary language naturally justifying political violence. If the other is an existential threat to the Nation, then its elimination is not only just but necessary.
Packer devotes the rest of the essay to an argument that this has all been enabled by our algorithm-driven information environment. I’m skeptical of that. But that’s a subject for another post.
