Confessions of a Modern-Day "Fascist", or the Danger of Diluted Language
In today's society, nuance has become a relic of the past. We inhabit a world of absolutes, where the grey areas of human behavior and belief are ignored and moral complexities are flattened into binary choices. It's no longer enough to criticize someone for behavior deemed inappropriate or offensive; we must cancel them, annihilate them, and make sure they never show their faces again. This perverse phenomenon, often referred to as "cancel culture," demands the total eradication of individuals from public life for their transgressions, perceived or real.
Cancel culture is synonymous with linguistic phenomenon known as semantic satiation, for reasons that will become obvious very shortly. This occurs when a word is repeated so often that it loses its meaning and becomes a mere sound. Consider the word "awesome." Originally, it described something that inspired awe or wonder, something truly extraordinary and magnificent. Over time, however, its usage expanded to the point where it now simply means "really good" or "cool." The profound sense of wonder it once conveyed has been diluted by overuse and casual application. The Americans really do ruin everything, don’t they?
Other words have undergone similar transformations. "Literally," which means in a literal manner or sense, has come to be used for emphasis, often in a figurative context. For instance, someone might say, "I literally died laughing," when they clearly did not die. The word's original precision is lost, making it a catch-all intensifier rather than a descriptor of fact. The term "epic," once reserved for grand and heroic tales or events of monumental significance, is now frequently used to describe anything mildly impressive or enjoyable. “How was Saturday night out with the lads?” “Epic!”
These examples of semantic satiation illustrate a broader trend in our language: the dilution of meaning. Words that once carried weight and specificity are now used indiscriminately, their impact diminished by overuse and misapplication. This trend extends beyond casual conversation and into the arena of serious discourse, where terms like "fascist," "racist," "bigot," and "transphobe" have similarly lost their precise meanings.
In a time where constructive dialogue is needed more than ever, these terms have become tools of suppression rather than enlightenment. It’s not that these concepts don’t exist; far from it. But when these words are flung about with reckless abandon, like confetti at a Pride parade, we all lose, even the people who think they are winning. When these diluted terms are aimed at anyone who dares to diverge from a prescribed orthodoxy, they lose their potency. They become less about combating genuine hatred and more about stifling uncomfortable truths or unpopular opinions.
Consider the term "right-wing." In the current socio-political landscape, it’s a label that has stretched beyond recognition. Individuals like myself, who tread the centrist path, find ourselves lumped in with the likes of Nick Fuentes, a Holocaust denier in the US, and Alex Jones, a…well, you know who Mr. Jones is. The nuance is gone, swept away in a tide of polarized, emotionally-driven rhetoric. We are judged not by the content of our character or the substance of our beliefs, but by a lazy shorthand that reduces complex individuals to silly caricatures. It's an absurd conflation that does a disservice to genuine discourse and understanding.
And what of fairness? In this upside-down world, fairness seems like an antiquated notion. It is a quaint relic of a more civil era. The arena of public debate has become a battleground where the rules are ever-changing and the goalposts are forever moving. Fiery commentator today, fascist tomorrow.
In 2024, it seems, it’s not about reaching a mutual understanding or finding common ground; it’s about winning, about crushing the opposition with whatever rhetorical weapons are at hand. If that means calling a centrist Mussolini or labeling a moderate a right-wing extremist, so be it.
I must clarify: I'm not a fascist, not in any traditional sense. Fascism is a far-right authoritarian ideology characterized by dictatorial power, forcible suppression of opposition, and strong regimentation of society and the economy. It's a word with a heavy historical weight, evoking images of totalitarian regimes and the brutal subjugation of dissent. Fascists believe in total conformity, enforced through violence and coercion.
In fact, I am anything but a fascist. I believe in individual freedoms, democratic governance, and the importance of dialogue and understanding across differences. Yet, in today's environment, where feelings often trump facts, the truth becomes a casualty. Labels like "misogynist" are thrown around carelessly, stripping them of their historical and ideological significance. This reckless use of language not only distorts reality but also undermines our ability to confront genuine threats to our society. Godwin's Law, coined by Mike Godwin in 1990, cheekily observes: "As an online discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches 1." In the wild west of online discourse, it's the digital equivalent of Murphy's Law—inevitably, any heated debate will spiral down into a Hitler comparison. Today, this internet axiom is a hallmark of hyperbole, often signaling when a conversation has exited the rational and veered headfirst into the intellectual abyss.
As obvious as it sounds, we must challenge this culture of absolutes, this drive to annihilate rather than engage. The complexity of human thought and behavior cannot be reduced to simple labels and binary choices.