Matthew Feldman stands as one of the foremost authorities on fascist ideology and the modern far-right in Europe and the United States. A prolific scholar, Feldman has explored the intersections of politics, faith, and extremism in the contemporary world, sharing his insights with students and scholars alike for more than a decade. Currently, a Professor of Contemporary History at Teesside University and a Senior Research Fellow at the University of Bergen, Norway, Feldman’s academic pedigree includes fellowships at Oxford, Birmingham, and Northampton, where he led the School of Social Sciences’ Radicalism and New Media Research Group.

In this conversation, Feldman traces the global evolution of far-right movements, delving into how digital technology amplifies their reach, fosters anonymity, and creates enduring networks. He charts the erosion of the historical “antifascist consensus” and examines how societal polarization, identity politics, and fragile masculinity have created fertile ground for extremism—particularly among Generation Z. Rejecting simplistic labels, Feldman critiques the tendency to brand figures like Donald Trump as outright fascists, instead framing their actions within broader trends of conservative authoritarianism that serve as pathways to extremism. Through long-form dialogue, he champions critical reflection and historical literacy as tools to confront the modern challenges posed by authoritarianism and extremism.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: We’ve witnessed a significant rise in domestic terrorist activity within the United States, much of which is rooted in white identity and nationalist ideologies—commonly grouped under the banner of “white nationalism.” Why do you think this trend has escalated in recent years, and how is it shaping our current political and social landscape?

Matthew Feldman: It’s a pleasure to talk about these issues, even though they are deeply troubling. No doubt some of the territory we’ll cover will be difficult—addressing racism, violence, and extremism. But it’s important to remember that what we call the far-right, or right-wing extremism, has existed for more than a century. This is not a new phenomenon. However, its context and geography have evolved. Today, we’ll focus primarily on North America.

One crucial point is that the far-right—and, in particular, fascism, which is the revolutionary form of the far-right—has always been very skilled at leveraging technology. In the 1930s, they used radio and the press to spread propaganda. In the 1980s, they were early adopters of bulletin board systems. More recently, they have turned to the Internet and social media, leveraging these platforms to amplify their messaging in ways that provide three key advantages, particularly since the post-war period. First, the anonymity of online posting shields extremists from accountability. Second, far-right content, including terrorist manifestos, often remains online indefinitely, making it notoriously difficult to remove completely. Finally, online spaces enable far-right actors to connect with like-minded individuals locally or globally.

These elements were largely unavailable during the far-right’s ‘dark days’ during the Cold War when a colleague of mine coined the term antifascist consensus. Back then, expressing far-right ideas could result in imprisonment in Eastern Europe. In Western Europe and North America, there was a strong cultural and social taboo against far-right ideologies, making it difficult for them to gain traction. However, we have seen this change dramatically in recent years.

Jacobsen: To what extent do online platforms play a central role in amplifying these ideologies and their visibility?

Feldman: The importance of online spaces in this context cannot be overstated. This is not to say that social media platforms themselves are far-right. Still, they provide the three elements I mentioned: anonymity, permanence, and global reach. These are incredibly significant.

Social media has made far-right messaging much more visible. I’m not convinced that there are necessarily more far-right extremists in the world or the United States today than there were, say, 50 years ago. But they are far more visible and emboldened in some respects. That brings us to the Trump administration, which seems emboldened to promote far-right themes, such as nativism and immigration.

Jacobsen: If much of this extremist content exists online in a permanent or semi-permanent state, could that fact serve as an unintended advantage? Might it enable us to more effectively catalogue, analyze, and counteract such ideologies, eventually relegating these groups to the periphery—similar to organizations like the Church of Scientology, which remain intimidating and politically active but ultimately limited in broader influence?

Feldman: In other words, could these movements be pushed back to the fringes of society? Yes, but I would push back slightly, Scott, and suggest that the question depends on who we mean by ‘we.’ I’m based in the UK, and some of your viewers or listeners might be based in Europe, where the approach to content moderation differs significantly. In the United States, the trend is moving toward even less protection than Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act provided. Even that might be rolled back.

So, ‘we’—if we’re talking about how the online world appears—see it differently depending on geography. For example, how the far-right operates online in Germany differs from that in the United States.

Jacobsen: Does combating these groups require a universal approach, or should tailored tools and strategies be developed to address different ideological or regional contexts?

Feldman: I tend to lean toward the latter, especially in the context of the American First Amendment. In the U.S., there’s a much broader understanding of free speech and a much narrower understanding of what constitutes hate speech or incitement.

But let’s consider the bigger picture. It seems inconceivable to me that, if the world is still around in 50 years, we won’t have some form of a global Supreme Court of the Internet. The Internet does not respect national borders. People can use VPNs to bypass restrictions. Even those who aren’t particularly tech-savvy can recognize that while countries like China might build firewalls around social media, the Internet is not the same as a physical border crossing. The Internet is truly global, and it has changed not just how we date or shop but also how the far-right represents itself and its role in the world. It has fundamentally reshaped their ability to operate and influence others.

Jacobsen: When discussing far-right radicalism or ethnic-based extremism, the focus often lies on its harmful, one-directional impact on society—politically, socially, and culturally. However, could there be a case for viewing this as a two-way dynamic? For instance, does the cosmopolitan and interconnected nature of the Internet have the potential to influence these groups, making them extreme but perhaps less so than they might have been in earlier, more isolated eras?

Feldman: It’s not just a one-way street; that dynamic is unlikely to change. The far-right has adapted its strategies over the past few decades, using a tactic that some scholars have described as ‘front stage’ and ‘backstage.’ The ‘backstage’ refers to the hardcore supporters and their messaging, which is often too extreme for public consumption. On the ‘front stage,’ the messaging is toned down—more cosmopolitan, as you put it—to appeal to broader audiences.

This approach has been around for a long time. For example, if we go back a century to the most radical form of the far-right—fascism—Adolf Hitler demonstrated this strategy. When he gave a speech to the so-called Düsseldorf Club in January 1932, an audience of business people during Germany’s Great Depression, he didn’t mention Jews or antisemitism even once. He tailored his speech to appear as a ‘reasonable’ far-right extremist rather than the genocidal fascist he truly was. He knew his audience and adjusted his rhetoric accordingly.

Jacobsen: Are you noticing a dual strategy among these groups? One that involves outward-facing rhetoric designed for public appeal paired with more covert, strategic operations behind the scenes.

Feldman: I see it all the time. Ten years ago, I published Doublespeak: The Rhetoric of the Far Right Since 1945. There are numerous case studies in that book, but let me share one from a group in the UK called the British National Party (BNP), which had dozens of councillors in 2009. We’re only 15 years on from that, Scott.

At the time, they had two members of the European Parliament. During the European parliamentary elections, the party leadership distributed a ‘Language and Concepts Discipline Guide’ for their members and activists, who numbered in the thousands. Rule number one: “We are not a racist party.” Now, if you need to tell your hardcore activists, “We are not a racist party,” you’re admitting quite a lot there, aren’t you?

They were trying to present themselves as the ‘common-sense’ choice, wrapping their messaging in historic British and patriotic themes while masking their more extreme, radical agenda. This is not new territory. The strategy of appearing reasonable in public while pursuing a more extreme agenda behind the scenes is as old as the far-right itself.

Jacobsen: As the saying goes, “Hate makes strange bedfellows.” Who are the current unlikely alliances forming in these extremist spaces?

Feldman: That’s a good question. It isn’t easy to pin down. Some of my colleagues have pointed to connections between Islamists and the far-right—limited but real—largely revolving around antisemitism. You also see some strange bedfellows aligned on the issue of anti-Muslim prejudice, which has become a kind of lowest common denominator among various far-right groups. For example, you might find some level of proximity between a far-right group in India, like the RSS, and a far-right group in the United States, both sharing that anti-Muslim sentiment.

So, yes, hate does create strange bedfellows. But by and large—and forgive me if this sounds like a platitude—I believe people tend to know their own. Socialists recognize other socialists. Anarchists know other anarchists. And indeed, fascists and far-right extremists recognize and align with others like themselves.

Jacobsen: How prevalent are these ideologies outside Western Europe and North America? Do we see similar patterns emerging in regions such as Africa, Latin America, East Asia, or South Asia? If so, are they adapted for local political and social contexts, or do they retain their Western origins?

Feldman: The first question I would suggest is methodological: What glasses are we wearing? If we’re wearing the glasses of fascism—which I regard as a revolutionary ideology from the right—then we must acknowledge its Eurocentric origins. Ever since Nazi Germany emerged as the dominant force in fascist ideology, eclipsing Italian fascism by the mid-1930s, fascism has largely been synonymous with white supremacism.

That said, it is not to say there are no non-white fascists, but fascism remains a Eurocentric ideology. However, the far-right is more of an umbrella term. It certainly includes fascism, but it also encompasses other shades of extremism that can be applied to different parts of the world. For example, far-right ideologies emphasize race and nation adapted to other regions.

In Turkey, we have the Grey Wolves. In India, the BJP and particularly the RSS exemplify these tendencies. In Brazil, we saw this with Jair Bolsonaro. These movements may differ in some respects, but they share core elements of far-right ideology adapted to local contexts.

Now, these are not fascist revolutionary regimes, in my view, but they are far-right, and they underscore the global connectivity of far-right movements. This, in itself, is a strange irony. When we think of fascism and the far-right, most people’s first synonym would probably be nationalism. Yet, I’m writing a book on the history of fascism—almost a biography of the ideology, if you will—and one of the more unusual findings is that, from its inception in the 1920s, fascism has always been a globalist creed.

Even when we’re talking about federal attachments or German hegemony, there was a sense of evangelical, missionary work aimed at converting people to this ideology—literally around the world.

Jacobsen: In your view, what is the most pressing institutionalized far-right threat in the United States today? This doesn’t necessarily have to be the largest group, but the one that poses the most serious risk regarding ideology and organization.

Feldman: Regarding the far-right, one could argue that Donald Trump’s administration falls under that umbrella. We could discuss where and how it may or may not be considered far-right, but it is part of the broader landscape.

Within that umbrella, there are numerous fascist revolutionary groups. Most of them are small, typically numbering in the hundreds, but they have significant potential for growth. The title of the book I’m working on is A History of Fascism from 1919 to the Present. The title reflects my belief that fascism has essentially returned to what it was 105 years ago: small, intensely violent, often terroristic, media-savvy, and primed for explosive growth.

We’re also observing a growing gender divide among Generation Z. While I recognize the semi-arbitrary nature of labels like ‘Boomer,’ ‘Gen X,’ ‘Gen Y,’ and so on, these generational categories can help demographers catalogue trends. Within Gen Z, we see a significant political and social divergence by gender. Women in this cohort continue to become more progressive and oriented toward gender parity, likely reflecting broader psychosocial leanings.

However, men in Gen Z appear to be breaking from that several-generation trend, becoming more conservative. Essentially, we’re witnessing a literal fork in the road between men and women within this younger generation.

Jacobsen: Younger men often seem particularly susceptible to far-right propaganda. Do you believe this stems from genuine grievances, or are these issues largely fabricated to manipulate this demographic?

Feldman: No group is inherently insulated from the seductions, lies, and deceptions of far-right extremism. That said, certain groups may have particular vulnerabilities. For example, we’ve been conducting research on mental health and neurodiversity, particularly Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), where it seems there may be specific vulnerabilities. These individuals, already facing stigma, might be more susceptible to certain narratives.

It’s important to note, though, that the vast majority of people with mental health challenges do not turn to political violence. For example, in the UK, we see something like 1 in 20,000,000 people with mental health conditions committing political violence. But when we reverse the perspective, we find that people convicted of far-right terrorist offences in the UK are overrepresented in terms of neurodiversity—something like four times more than the general population. These susceptibilities are worth exploring.

Another significant factor we see in far-right terrorism is a history of prior violent behaviour. This might include domestic abuse, animal abuse, stalking, or harassment. These behaviours often signal susceptibility to being drawn into far-right extremism.

And it may well be that what we want to call a sense of fragile masculinity—or masculinity under threat—can be another one of these susceptibilities. There is no question that the far-right image of masculinity, femininity, and family life is deeply reactionary. One could call it chauvinist or traditionalist—take your pick—but it valorizes sameness.

The far-right has always valorized sameness and opposed what it perceives as difference: people who look different, sound different, or are differently abled. The far-right has always targeted these groups, just as sameness and homogeneity have been its ideals. I don’t expect that to change anytime soon.

Jacobsen: Are there any books you recommend that are particularly insightful in addressing the generational challenges we’re seeing in this context?

Feldman: There are certainly books that address the growth of the Internet and social media use, which is a critical aspect of this discussion. Let me share a statistic that still makes me sit up and take notice: two out of three human beings on the planet spend an average of 120 minutes a day scrolling social media. To put that another way, 5.07 billion people on this planet spend an eighth of their waking life on social media. That is a fundamentally new phenomenon in human experience.

We’re still trying to understand what this does to us. It may still be too early to tell, but we are, in effect, engaged in a massive social experiment. What does an infinite amount of content—or, to be diplomatic, let’s call it ‘information’—do to our brains? Internet usage varies by region, but the percentages are even higher in places like Canada and the U.S..

However, one thing that seems consistent is that it reduces opportunities for quiet reflection. If you arrive 10 minutes early to meet a friend for a film, you’re far more likely to scroll through your phone than to sit quietly and think about your day or consider spiritual or material matters. These are fundamental changes.

Regarding the politics of the matter, I strongly recommend Kurt Weyland’s The Assault on Democracy. Weyland argues quite compellingly that people who call Donald Trump a fascist are making an error. He suggests that what proliferated during the 1920s and 1930s in Europe was not totalitarian fascism but conservative authoritarianism.

Jacobsen: Could you expand on Weyland’s analysis and relevance to contemporary far-right movements?

Feldman: Certainly, in The Assault on Democracy, Weyland emphasizes that what proliferated during the 1920s and 1930s in Europe—what we might call the interwar crisis—was not fascism as a totalitarian force but conservative authoritarianism. This distinction is crucial because conservative authoritarianism, as Weyland describes it, served as the ‘gateway drug’ to fascism.

In Germany, figures like Franz von Papen and other authoritarians held power in the early 1930s before Hitler’s rise. Similarly, this critique extends to Austria, Croatia, Hungary, Slovenia, and Romania—countries that eventually had fascist regimes but were first governed by conservative authoritarian or far-right regimes.

The guiding question is whether history repeats itself—or at least we can learn lessons from it. Assuming there are parallels between our time and the interwar crisis, it’s essential to recognize that conservative authoritarianism was often the precursor to fascism. This isn’t just about Germany; it’s a pattern we see across multiple countries in that era.

And that is a hugely important point. In history, the only instance of fascism seemingly coming out of nowhere is fascist Italy. Unlike most examples, Italy wasn’t ‘softened up’ by conservative authoritarianism before fascism took hold. What we’re seeing now, rather than asking if Trump is a fascist, is whether the conservative authoritarianism of the Trump administration is softening the ground or proliferating conditions that could make fascism possible. That is the core of my critique.

This situation might be uncomfortable now, but it’s important to remember that dying under a far-right regime, such as those under Pinochet or the Greek colonels, isn’t necessarily ‘better’ or ‘worse’ than under a fascist regime. Fascism, however, is revolutionary and sits at the end of far-right politics. What we’re observing is the potential for those who come after Trump to be the revolutionary fascists. That is the historical parallel I’m keen to point out.

Conservative authoritarianism doesn’t necessarily have to include a specific religious ideology or a rigid view of ethnic identity. It can be a political ideology incorporating various elements without requiring a complete a la carte set of beliefs.

Jacobsen: That’s a fascinating distinction. Could you explain how Nazi Germany, in particular, complicates or challenges this comparison?

Feldman: Certainly, Nazi Germany complicates this narrative somewhat. For example, in fascist Italy between 1922 and 1938—before the regime introduced Nazi-style race laws targeting Jewish people—it wasn’t necessarily more racist than other societies of the time. If you compare it to France, Britain, Eastern Europe, or even the United States, it wasn’t exceptional in its racism.

Of course, Italy was xenophobic and nationalistic. Still, it wasn’t until the mid-1930s—when Nazism became the dominant model of fascism—that white supremacism and extreme antisemitism became central. Since then, it has been difficult to disentangle fascism from antisemitism or ethnic supremacism, but they are not definitive or exclusive criteria for what constitutes fascism.

Jacobsen: Shifting gears slightly, I’d like to reference an interview I conducted with Eric Kaufmann. Kaufmann made an intriguing point about cultural and group identity. He noted that identities tied to national traditions—like those of the Dutch, French, or English—often incorporate elements such as language, dress, or behaviors that foster a kind of cultural distinctiveness. While these “white identities” can manifest as benign forms of cultural pride in specific contexts, extremist nationalist or religious ideologies are an entirely different phenomenon. Kaufmann argued that engaging with cultural pride in a constructive way could potentially deter individuals from radicalizing, yet this topic often remains taboo. What’s your take on this distinction, and do you see merit in his argument?

Feldman: It’s an important and nuanced point and a sensitive one. This taps into the broader issue of identitarianism—people’s identities based on ability, gender, national origin, faith, and so on. You’re right that there is a historical precedent here. In white-majority countries, such as those in North America and Europe, we know from history that marginalized groups—such as people of colour and Jewish people—have been mistreated.

Acknowledging cultural pride can be positive and help build community. Still, the challenge is to draw the line where pride morphs into exclusion or extremism. That contact point, where healthy pride can prevent radicalization, is worth exploring. It could be a preventative measure, but navigating it without reinforcing harmful ideologies is a delicate balance.

Oftentimes, through things like Jim Crow laws, people of colour were legally segregated and treated as second-class citizens. That history is undeniable. However, we can contrast that history of identitarianism with the vision of one of my heroes, Martin Luther King Jr., who advocated for universalism and a colorblind society.

As we know, particularly on the left, some argue that this ideal doesn’t work in practice because significant gaps and ongoing discrimination persist. Most people, upon reflection, would agree that such inequalities persist. However, if we continue to emphasize individual identity, it becomes challenging to create a universalist outlook. Certain outgroups—whether Jewish people, Asian Americans in North America, or even white people—may reasonably ask, “What about us? What about our identity?”

This brings us back to the legacy of white supremacism that dominated previous centuries. As I see it, the risk here is that if everyone focuses on their identity and prioritizes smaller, cohesive group identities, we may find ourselves picking at the scabs of some ugly past areas.

Jacobsen: Finally, as we wrap up, do you have any reflections or parting thoughts on this conversation or the broader issues we’ve discussed today?

Feldman: I want to end with something that happened a few days ago, as it encapsulates some of our discussion. I’m not going to suggest there’s a definitive answer to this. Still, many of your readers will have their own opinions on the controversy surrounding Elon Musk’s alleged fascist or Nazi salute during the inauguration.

Some, including the ADL, have urged people not to read too much into it. Others, including certain historians of fascism, are convinced it was a deliberate Nazi salute. I think this sort of all-or-nothing, zero-sum thinking is mistaken. It’s not necessarily either one or the other. If anything, Elon Musk seems to be engaging in a tradition of what’s often referred to as online ‘shitposting’ or trolling—using irony or provocation to stir reactions.

Let’s not forget that much of the mass media was labeling Trump and his movement as fascist in the lead-up to the election in November and even afterward. This points to a broader issue: how we interpret such gestures and symbols often depends on our biases and cultural lenses.

And to some extent, Elon Musk may have been responding to that, essentially saying, “Here’s another taboo broken.” Let’s not forget that Musk did visit Auschwitz-Birkenau, so he does have an understanding of the past and the annihilation of entire ethnic groups who were viewed as subhuman under Nazi Germany. However, this act—and the broader combination of Internet culture, social media, politics, and the tendency for everyone to be so certain in their interpretations—is part of the conundrum we face today.

This isn’t just about the Trump administration. It’s about a rising conservative authoritarianism that, if we’re not careful and don’t learn the right lessons from history, could lead us into some very dark places.

Jacobsen: Thank you so much for your time and insight.

Feldman: Credit you, Scott, for persevering through a less-than-happy subject with me today.