We each have a Nazi in us

Many of us harbor the seeds for hatred, rage, fear and narcissism that, in their most extreme forms, are the dominant emotional currents whose confluence can feed fascism, given enough provocation.

All the more reason to understand the psychic sources of such tendencies, whose nature can be expressed in one word: trauma. In the case of fascism, severe trauma.

Nobody is born with rabid hatred, existential fear or cold contempt permanently embedded in their minds or hearts. These emotions, when chronic, are responses to unbearable suffering endured at a time of utmost vulnerability: early childhood.

Infants enter the world with the implicit expectation of being physically protected and emotionally nourished.

Trauma represents a disconnect from these healthy inclinations, in extreme cases a defensive denial of them as being too vulnerable to bear. That, in essence, is what fascism is on the emotional level: a desperate escape from vulnerability.

Looking at Adolf Hitler or Donald Trump, we find remarkable similarities: relentless self-hypnotising mendacity, devious opportunism, deep cruelty, unhinged impulsivity. Both grew up in homes with abusive fathers, with mothers impotent to defend their children.

Psychologist Michael Milburn’s research confirms that the harsher the parenting atmosphere people were exposed to when young, the more prone they are to support authoritarian or aggressive policies.

Neuroimaging studies show the amygdala, the almond-shaped brain structure that mediates fear, is larger in people with more right-wing views. It’s more active in those favouring strong protective authority and harbouring a suspicion of outsiders and of people who are different.

Fascism, in that sense, is an all too human phenomenon, an outcome of many influences salient among which, on the personal scale, is the unspeakable suffering of the child.

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We each have a Nazi in us. We need to understand the psychological roots of authoritarianism (Guardian)