In an interview with the ECPS, Professor Nic Cheeseman dissects the global resurgence of authoritarian populism and the uneven pathways of democratic backsliding. Warning against the “temporal fallacy,” he argues that crises unfolding simultaneously do not share a single cause—from Europe’s far-right surge to West Africa’s coups. Professor Cheeseman spotlights the twin pillars of democratic defense: resilient institutions and organized civic resistance. “In countries where institutions are weak, mass mobilization becomes absolutely critical—often the only mechanism left to stop populist or authoritarian leaders from consolidating power,” he says. Citing Ghana, Kenya, and Zambia, he urges context-specific democracy support that amplifies local strengths over one-size-fits-all templates.
Giving an interview to the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Dr. Nic Cheeseman, Professor of Democracy at the University of Birmingham, and the Director of the Centre for Elections, Democracy, Accountability and Representation (CEDAR), offers a comprehensive analysis of the global resurgence of authoritarian populism, democratic backsliding, and the vital role of civic resistance in fragile democracies. As a signatory of the June 13, 2025, anti-fascist declaration, Professor Cheeseman warns against the normalization of exclusionary, illiberal politics and highlights the need to rethink strategies for safeguarding democracy in the 21st century.
Professor Cheeseman emphasizes that democratic decline is not uniform but highly context-specific, urging caution against what he calls the “temporal fallacy”—the assumption that simultaneous crises share common causes. While far-right populism is reshaping politics in Europe, democratic erosion elsewhere often follows different patterns, such as military coups in West Africa or institutional capture in Latin America. “What we’re seeing is a highly complex set of processes pushing countries away from democracy, but these processes do not necessarily share a common underlying theme,” he explains.
A central theme of the interview is Professor Cheeseman’s analysis of the relationship between institutional resilience and mass mobilization in resisting authoritarianism. Drawing on Afrobarometer data and recent case studies, he underscores that strong institutions remain the first line of defense against creeping autocracy. However, in contexts where institutional capacity is weak, civic resistance becomes decisive: “In countries where institutions are weak, mass mobilization becomes absolutely critical—often the only mechanism left to stop populist or authoritarian leaders from consolidating power,” Professor Cheeseman asserts.
This argument resonates particularly in African contexts, where frustration with democratic performance—stemming from economic hardships, governance failures, and elite corruption—has fueled coups and populist takeovers. Yet, Professor Cheeseman points to inspiring counterexamples like Kenya, Ghana, and Zambia, where citizens have mobilized successfully to safeguard democratic norms. In Zambia, for instance, “hundreds of thousands of citizens turned out to vote, even believing the election wouldn’t be fully free and fair, because they knew collective action could bring political change—and it did.”
Professor Cheeseman also critiques “one-size-fits-all” democratization strategies, urging international actors to develop context-specific approaches grounded in local realities, civic strengths, and the dynamics of populist narratives.
Overall, the interview highlights Professor Cheeseman’s central thesis: defending democracy requires a dual strategy of institutional strengthening and societal mobilization. Where one falters, the other must rise.
Dr. Nic Cheeseman, Professor of Democracy at the University of Birmingham and Director of the Centre for Elections, Democracy, Accountability, and Representation (CEDAR).
Here is the transcript of our interview with Professor Nic Cheeseman, edited lightly for readability.
Beware the ‘Temporal Fallacy’: Mapping the Varied Paths of Authoritarian Populism
Professor Cheeseman, thank you very much for joining our interview series. Let me start right away with the first question: As a signatory of the June 13, 2025, anti-fascist declaration, how do you interpret the resurgence of authoritarianism and illiberal populism globally? Do contemporary far-right movements represent a new form of “neo-fascism,” or are they better understood as populist-authoritarian hybrids adapted to 21st-century democracies?
Professor Nic Cheeseman: That’s a big question to start with. I’ll begin by reiterating something I often emphasize when discussing the recent phase of global politics and the authoritarian trend: we must be cautious of what I call the temporal fallacy. The temporal fallacy is the assumption that, because many developments are occurring simultaneously, they must be driven by the same underlying causes. For example, if we examine the challenges to democracy worldwide and the rise of authoritarian leaders, we see that some of these leaders fit into a proto-populist, right-wing, exclusionary politics mold.
We can observe the rise of the far-right across Europe, and, of course, we should note that right now, as we speak, far-right candidates or parties are leading in opinion polls in France, Germany, and the United Kingdom—something unprecedented in my lifetime. However, this trend applies only to a certain set of countries. In other contexts, democratic decline has occurred for very different reasons. For example, in West Africa, we’ve seen junta leaders seize power with little connection to right-wing populism. In some cases, there’s instead a pan-African, almost leftist form of old-school populism, modeled more on figures like Ghana’s Jerry Rawlings than on Europe’s fascist traditions. Similarly, in parts of Latin America and elsewhere, we observe yet different dynamics. Overall, what we’re seeing is a highly complex set of processes pushing countries away from democracy, but these processes do not necessarily share a common underlying theme.
So, in that sense, even if we were to agree that some of these cases provide a strong parallel to the fascist movements of the 1930s–1940s, we would, of course, be talking about only a small subset of them. And that brings us to the question of why sign a letter against the rise of fascism. I think what we wanted to do in the letter—and obviously, I can only speak for myself, not for the other signatories—was to raise a warning flag and say: we are beginning to see the early signs of something that increasingly resembles the kind of outright hostility toward other cultures and migrants that we have witnessed before in history.
At present, I think it’s fair to say that we are not yet at that scale. But what we are seeing—and this is what truly concerns me—is that both from senior political figures, like Nigel Farage or Donald Trump, and from below, through social media and conversations among people who share similar views, we now have an almost full legitimization of exclusionary, racist, and hostile discourse happening simultaneously from the top and the bottom. Social media is emboldening people, and the rhetoric of leaders is emboldening people. These two dynamics, unfolding together, mean that things people would not have dared to say 10 or 20 years ago, they now feel confident expressing publicly, believing that others will support them.
Now, the final point I want to make is that we must be very careful not to assume that the values and prejudices we’re hearing today are somehow new. In many cases, people are simply feeling emboldened to express views they have held for a long time. One mistake we must avoid is interpreting these new expressions as evidence that we had previously solved these issues and that they have suddenly reemerged. My sense is that we never effectively addressed many of these underlying problems; instead, they were allowed to fester beneath the surface. What’s different now is that these prejudices are being emboldened and amplified in this particular moment. So, we face a dual challenge: how to confront the current manifestation of exclusionary politics and why we failed to tackle the root causes and reduce these prejudices more effectively over the last 20 to 30 years.
Frustration with Democracy Fuels Support for Military Intervention
Thai military seizes control from Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra in a coup in Bangkok, Thailand, on September 22, 2006. Photo: Charlie Milsom.
Drawing on your work in“War and Democracy”in 2018, to what extent do rising authoritarian movements exploit institutional weaknesses and democratic fatigue, particularly in post-colonial states? How might these dynamics explain the erosion of liberal norms both in Africa and globally?
Professor Nic Cheeseman: I think frustration with democracy is a really important factor in many parts of the world. Some people believe that they once had a good-quality democracy and that it was taken away, while others feel that democracy was strong but ultimately failed them. For example, in the United States, many might feel that, on the one hand, they have been told they live in a functioning democracy, but on the other hand, they have seen class mobility decline and their ability to achieve a better life than their parents diminish—leading, in a sense, to the erosion of belief in the American dream. Alternatively, we can look at societies in Africa that have never truly been granted democracy. In that article, we discussed countries like Uganda and Rwanda, where we have essentially seen prolonged periods of authoritarian rule.
Now, today, for example, in Uganda, we have a system that is called a multi-party electoral system; it is described as a democracy by the government, but the opposition has never been allowed to win. We know that the game is systematically stacked against the opposition. There was even a survey that found a majority of Ugandan people did not believe that power could be changed through the ballot box. So, when you reach a situation where most voters don’t believe they can actually remove the government through elections, that creates a very dangerous dynamic. It gives people an incentive to start contemplating and supporting alternative ways of changing power—for example, through armed force. And if we were to ask what conditions led to the coups in West Africa, one of the key factors was that citizens had become frustrated and fed up with democracy, no longer believing that it would deliver, and no longer necessarily believing that democratic systems or electoral processes would enable them to elect better leaders in the future. Under those conditions, support for the military and for military intervention becomes something that people are more willing to contemplate.
So, if we look at the Afrobarometer data, for example—survey data across West Africa—one of the things it shows us is that most people are still against military rule. However, even those who oppose military rule in principle are sometimes willing to say that the military has a right to intervene if civilian-led leaders have abused their power. In other words, what people are telling us is: we don’t want the military to govern, but if civilian leaders undermine their own legitimacy, perhaps the military is necessary to provide a clean break and a new opportunity to rebuild the system. I think some of that frustration with the performance of democracy—in terms of its failure to shield people from economic hardships, provide meaningful jobs, and offer a sense that people’s lives have worth and value—is also at the heart of some of the challenges facing democracy in Europe and North America, today.
When Populism Meets Ethnic Exclusion, the Risk of Proto-Fascism Rises
Entrance to the National Genocide Memorial in Kigali, Rwanda, on March 2, 2017. Photo: Karen Foley.
In your article “Ethnopopulism in Africa” in 2015, you describe how African leaders fuse populist economic narratives with ethnic mobilization. How do you assess the risks of ethnopopulism evolving into proto-fascist politics in fragile democracies, particularly where leaders invoke existential threats to justify state violence?
Professor Nic Cheeseman: I think the threat is really significant. But we have to be very careful about approaching this on a case-by-case basis. For example, we wrote that article with certain parts of sub-Saharan Africa in mind, where, on the one hand, you see leaders trying to mobilize in a more populist fashion using economic issues, but on the other hand, mobilizing along ethnic lines because they also recognize the need to carry their ethnic community with them. This results in piecing together a complex constituency that is, at times, inherently contradictory. If you want to deliver broad populist goals and improve the lives of citizens and the average person, you’re appealing to everyone—the common man. But if you then make an ethnic appeal and promise to deliver primarily to your own ethnic community, you narrow your focus to just that constituency. In that sense, it creates an internally contradictory approach.
And what we tried to address in that article is when this approach holds together and when it doesn’t. We essentially pointed out that it is more likely to hold together when a leader’s own ethnic community—perhaps due to historical experiences or socialization into certain values and ideas—is more inclined toward populism and actually shares populist values. This could involve supporting strong state intervention in the economy to deliver rapid change or desiring a “big man” leader and being willing to sacrifice democratic checks and balances to achieve those goals.
So, there’s a kind of tension there that can be overcome, and leaders can use it effectively. But, where those identifications are different, where the ethnic constituency of a leader wants something very different from what perhaps the common person on the street wants, or when there’s a real tension and polarization around ethnic identity, it can be extremely difficult to make them consistent, and actually, a lot of these strategies don’t end up winning power. They collapse under the weight of their own internal contradictions.
Now, where I think this becomes really dangerous—and we see this clearly in other parts of the world, including parts of Europe and Asia—is when you get that combination of a populist leader mobilizing around ethnicity, an exclusionary version of ethnicity, and using the demonization of either external countries or internal minorities as a way to unify their support base. When that happens, you get a particularly troubling form of proto-fascist mobilization. On the one hand, you are deliberately using that community as the glue holding your coalition together, making it impossible to abandon this strategy since it sustains the regime. On the other hand, the populist nature of this mobilization further erodes checks and balances, making it easier for human rights abuses to occur and putting the targeted community in particular danger. That’s where this exclusionary form of politics risks boiling over into something far more violent and repressive. That said, it’s important to remember that this pattern is not universal: some right-wing populists in power have not yet led to severe attacks on minorities, while others clearly have. There is, in other words, significant variation.
One of the things that’s quite interesting to me at the moment is looking at where we see leaders like this who seem genuinely interested in reshaping multiple levels of society, versus those who don’t. In Italy, for example, it seems to me that the government isn’t particularly interested in controlling what academics think or say, nor does it appear heavily involved in censoring universities or seeking to control society down to the grassroots. I could be wrong, but from talking to friends, that seems to be the case. By contrast, in the United States, you have a government that is actively waging war with some of its own universities—trying to impose forms of censorship, remove certain issues from the agenda, and push its own values onto it.
So, one of the things I think we need to reflect on more carefully is the question: why? Why do we have some movements and leaders who focus primarily on marginalizing communities within an exclusionary narrative, while others are far more invested in intervening directly to reshape society, including academia, universities, and cultural institutions? And why do we have some leaders who seem more focused on controlling the commanding heights of the state without necessarily pursuing deeper social transformation? What drives these different kinds of regimes, and what distinct consequences do they produce for their own societies?
Populists Rise on Anti-Corruption Rhetoric but Often Deepen Clientelism and Corruption
Brazilian citizens take to the streets demanding the impeachment of President Dilma, the arrest of former President Lula, and the fall of the Workers’ Party (PT), amid corruption scandals, in São Paulo, Brazil, on March 13, 2016. Photo: William Rodrigues Dos Santos.
In your 2016 article “Patrons, Parties, and Political Linkages, and the Birth of Competitive-Authoritarianism in Africa,” you highlight the role of clientelist networks in shaping political behavior. How do you see clientelism interacting with populism to facilitate creeping authoritarianism, especially when leaders frame loyalty to the state as loyalty to “the people”?
Professor Nic Cheeseman: It’s a very good question and I think there are two different parts to it. I mean, one is that, in a sense, classic populist leaders face a challenge when it comes to clientelism. Because, of course, if you’re arguing that people should support you because you embody the will of the people, you should be arguing, in a sense, that they should vote for you because they recognize you as the embodiment of the will of the people, and because of your agenda, platform, and personality. And that slightly cuts against the idea that you should, of course, mobilize people through clientelistic models, either by offering them very specific services in order to assist them. For example, the kind of model that we understand in the United States, where we see the government historically delivering specific localized services—for example, for the House of Representatives and so on—in return for votes, or, in sub-Saharan Africa, where we might expect there to be a relationship between leaders and their own ethnic community, exchanging resources in that way. And that, kind of, cuts against the logic of populist mobilization if we think about classic populist thought.
But of course, in reality, we know that these two things have often gone hand in hand, and clientelistic machines have often been the underpinnings of populists who use this kind of rhetoric but actually rely on clientelism to stay in power. Moreover, one of the things that we don’t think about enough is what happens to corruption when populists win power. So, for example, we know that one of the ways that populists mobilize support is that they claim that the state is corrupt. They claim the political elite is corrupt. They make great hay out of any corruption scandals.
Trump, of course, did this. It’s been a current theme in American politics: drain the swamp, reduce the corruption in the government. It’s true more broadly that people have a suspicion about government being corrupt and being inefficient, and so populists have understood that and play on that as a key part of their message. Of course, corruption is a particularly valuable message if you’re a populist leader. Because what you can say to people is: the system is so corrupt, it’s endemic, and it’s pervasive, and therefore, the only way we can deal with it is by electing someone who’s an outsider. And therefore, you have to elect me because I’m the outsider populist. None of those people in the system can be trusted to actually deal with it. So, you get corruption and anti-corruption as one of the key mobilizing messages of populists.
But, of course, when populists are in power, they then often prove to be just as corrupt, or even more corrupt, than the people they’ve replaced. One reason for that, of course, is that populists tend to remove checks and balances, they weaken institutions, they rule in a more spontaneous way, and often in a more individual and personalized way that undermines systems of accounting and systems of audit. Therefore, what you often see is the same populists who get elected on anti-corruption messages then commit greater corruption, partly for personal aggrandizement and wealth, partly to drive the clientelistic networks that were also part of your question. When they leave power, they actually also leave the states and the government more vulnerable to corruption in the future, precisely because they’ve weakened the institutions that were designed to prevent corruption.
So, in some countries, we’ve even seen more corruption when the populist leader has left power and someone else has come in who has been more corrupt-minded but then faces a situation with far fewer constraints. So, corruption and clientelism are fundamental to populism and the rise of populist leaders, both in terms of the mobilization of voters and getting into power, and then in terms of how they sustain power and the legacy they have for political systems.
Mass Mobilization: The Last Defense Against Authoritarianism
Peaceful protests on Niezaliežnasci Street in Minsk, Belarus. Demonstrators rally and march toward Independence Avenue on August 23, 2020. Photo: Shutterstock.
Based on your research on Kenya’s 2022 elections, to what extent can constitutional reforms and decentralization act as safeguards against authoritarian populism? Or do populist leaders inevitably find ways to co-opt democratic institutions?
Professor Nic Cheeseman: I think this depends a lot on how strong the institutions are before a populist leader comes to power, and it also depends on the balance of power. To what extent does the populist leaders get a parliament that is loyal to them? And there are two dimensions to that. One is the extent to which MPs, as part of the populist leader’s party or aligned with them, are elected so that they get an easy ride with Parliament. The other is how easy it is for them to buy over MPs in the context of weak legislatures and weak party systems. So, I think this varies significantly across different places. It seems so far that European countries that have experienced populism—with the exception, obviously, of Hungary—have managed to withstand it to some extent.
Partly because electoral commissions have remained credible, we’ve actually seen democratic institutions withstand some of the challenges, leading to cases of democratic bounce-back. For example, we might think of Poland, where an authoritarian-minded government took power and was later defeated. Similarly, we might expect a more significant prospect of the current government in Italy losing power in the future than in other contexts where institutions have been much weaker and more compromised from the start. Of course, that’s not to say that Italian political institutions are free of corruption or particularly strong.
But if we compare them, for example, to some countries in sub-Saharan Africa that I work on—where legislatures have historically been extremely weak, and presidents have used corruption and patronage to demobilize scrutiny and opposition within the legislature—we see very quickly that institutions there are often far less able to operate as effective checks and balances. And in the cases of the coups we’ve discussed, we often see Parliament dissolved, political parties banned, and constitutions suspended, leaving political institutions with no real capacity on their own to constrain the new government.
So, it’s a very mixed picture, and one that gives us important things to consider when it comes to democratic resilience. Some states are going to have much greater resilience than others because of the institutional strengths they possess.
The other thing that’s important to say briefly about this is that we need to think about both democratic resilience—that is, the extent to which institutions can cope with a shock, deal with a non-democratic leader, constrain them, and ensure the rule of law is followed—and resistance, meaning citizens on the streets, civil society mobilization, and people protesting against the government. Particularly in countries where institutions are weak, it is often this form of civil society mobilization and mass protest that prevents authoritarian takeovers. So, I think it’s really interesting to look at this combination. In some countries, institutions hold power; in others, institutions cannot, but mass mobilization can. And in that context, mass mobilization becomes absolutely critical, because it is almost the only mechanism left to stop populist or authoritarian leaders from consolidating their hold on power.
Democracy Can’t Be Saved with One-Size-Fits-All Solutions
Israelis protest in Tel Aviv against Netanyahu’s Judicial Coup in Israel. Photo: Avivi Aharon.
In your co-authored 2018 article “Ten Challenges in Democracy Support,” you warn against “one-size-fits-all” democratization models. How should international actors adapt their strategies when confronting populist movements with explicitly anti-democratic tendencies?
Professor Nic Cheeseman: One of the things I’ve done with some colleagues at CEDA—the Center for Elections, Democracy, Accountability, and Representation at the University of Birmingham—is to think through the different pathways of autocratization. We’ve identified at least four or five ways in which states can become more authoritarian. One is executive aggrandizement, where the incumbent leader expands their power and weakens checks and balances. Another is military interventions—violent takeovers, such as the Taliban retaking power or coups. A third involves state capture, with pervasive corruption corroding the system, though not necessarily led by a single political figure. Finally, there’s populist takeover, where outsider, anti-system candidates win power and then subvert democratic institutions. Understanding these pathways is essential for assessing the biggest threats to democracy and determining how best to build democratic resilience and support systems that uphold democratic norms.
Those strategies or pathways that I outlined are, of course, often overlapping, so they’re not mutually exclusive. For example, you could have executive aggrandizement occurring alongside state capture. But thinking about them carefully is important because it helps identify the biggest challenge in a given context. For instance, if you believe the primary threat in a particular country is a military coup, then the strategy should focus on coup-proofing: How can we professionalize the military? How can we deter it from seizing power through force? Conversely, if the main threat is executive aggrandizement, the priority becomes strengthening checks and balances—ensuring that legislatures and judiciaries are robust enough to hold the president accountable.
So, the potential solutions, or where you might emphasize investment, depend on assessing the specific threat. One of the risks, however, is that as a global community, we keep repeating the same approaches—supporting elections, legislatures, and civil liberties—without recognizing the need to be more problem-driven, focused, and context-specific. Within the policy community, everyone acknowledges that every reform and program should be tailored to context. But in practice, this is very difficult to achieve. It’s easy to say, “let’s adapt to context,” but much harder to determine what that context actually is and how best to respond to it. Thinking carefully about the most likely pathway of autocratization—and how to insulate against it—is, I believe, one way to encourage a more distinctive and effective approach in different settings.
Of course, you also need to consider other factors, such as identifying the main strengths of the democracy movement in a given country. In which areas is it powerful, and in which areas is it weak? How can we harness these strengths to build a truly effective coalition? That, again, depends on fully understanding which forces on the ground are most influential. In some countries, these might be trade unions, while in many parts of the world, trade unions have been so weakened that they can no longer play this role. In other contexts, religious organizations or other forms of civil society might serve as the driving forces. Ultimately, developing a clear understanding of the local context is critical for identifying the biggest threats and designing the best solutions.
Negative Messaging Can Strengthen Populist Narratives
In your 2024 article “Opening the Door to Anti-System Leaders,” you show how anti-corruption campaigns can paradoxically empower populist outsiders who then undermine democratic institutions. How do you interpret this dynamic in the broader resurgence of authoritarian populism, and are there parallels in Kenya, Zambia, or Tanzania?
Professor Nic Cheeseman: This is one of the things that, in some ways, is the most depressing: some of the things we try to do for good can end up having negative effects. It’s worth taking a step back for a moment from our specific research on corruption to explain why this happens and why it’s so important more broadly. One of the things researchers have started to find is that public awareness messaging—things like “don’t smoke, it’s bad for you,” “don’t drink and drive,” or “follow COVID rules”—can sometimes do more harm than good. One reason, we think, is that by telling people that lots of others are not doing something, you may subconsciously make them think that behavior is more acceptable, easier to get away with, and more socially legitimate.
For example, if I say to you, “lots of people are not following COVID regulations, so COVID is escalating, and we need to follow these regulations,” part of what you may be thinking, perhaps subconsciously, is: “well, if lots of people are not following COVID regulations, then maybe I shouldn’t either, because the norm is not to follow them.” And you might also think, “I won’t get in that much trouble, because loads of other people are already not following them.”
What you need to be really careful about when putting out messages is avoiding language that exacerbates or reinforces people’s sense that the behavior you’re warning against is pervasive, widespread, and normal. This is especially true when it comes to corruption. If you create an advert or message that makes people believe the country is even more corrupt than they already thought, or if you make them focus too heavily on the extent of corruption, you risk encouraging a sense of helplessness and powerlessness. That, in turn, can make people feel they should simply “go with the flow” rather than resist.
We’ve conducted research in a number of countries—Albania, Nigeria, and others—on what happens when this kind of messaging is used, where the focus is on how bad things are, employing what we call a “negative message.” In general, these messages not only fail to encourage people to do what you want—whether following COVID rules, quitting smoking, or, in our case, fighting corruption—but they also often have backlash effects. What we frequently observe is a backfiring effect, where people who receive these messages actually become more willing to engage in corruption rather than less. We believe this happens because such messaging fosters apathy rather than activism and reinforces people’s pre-existing skepticism about the state.
So, what this means is that anti-corruption messages themselves can unintentionally create the very foundations that populists exploit. For example, if anti-corruption messaging makes people more concerned about the extent of corruption but also more apathetic about their ability to change it—feeding a sense that the situation is hopeless—then people may become more willing to accept populist alternatives. In the paper you’re referencing, that’s exactly what we show: people who were exposed to some of these messages—which were intended to encourage anti-corruption activity—actually demonstrated increased support for populist values and attitudes. That’s an unintended and unwanted side effect.
So, we have to be very careful with how we fight, not just in anti-corruption campaigns but across many other areas. If we rely too heavily on negative messaging that focuses on how bad problems are, we may not only fail to achieve positive outcomes but also risk creating backfiring effects—making people more willing to tolerate corruption and other harmful behaviors.
For example, we’ve found associations between negative messaging and declining support for paying taxes, as well as reduced support for other critical elements of the social contract. I think this has significant implications for how we fight back against authoritarianism and sustain democracy. Messages like “everywhere is authoritarian” are ineffective because they reinforce the perception that authoritarianism is pervasive and widely tolerated. Instead, we need to craft messages that highlight how many citizens actually believe in the values we care about—how many support fighting corruption, how many believe their country would be better if it were less corrupt, and how many value democracy. These kinds of positive messages can mobilize people and build solidarity. Negative messaging, however, is really dangerous, and we need to avoid it.
Africa Offers Inspirational Lessons in Democratic Resilience
Two queues of people at a polling station during the 2011 general elections in Zambia. Photo: Dreamstime.
As a follow-up to our discussion on democratic backsliding and a final question, is there, in your view, any notable example of successful democratization across the African continent that offers inspiration amid the rising threats of resurgent fascism, populist mobilization, and authoritarian consolidation? What lessons can ailing democracies—both within Africa and globally—draw from such cases?
Professor Nic Cheeseman: There are a number of really inspirational cases. Ghana, for instance, springs to mind. It is a country that experienced a series of coups and instability in the 1970s and 80s, followed by a period under military leader Jerry Rawlings, and then managed to emerge in the 1990s with a solid constitution that institutionalized a separation of powers. Rawlings then stepped down when his two-term limit came up, leading to a peaceful transfer of power. Since then, there have been a succession of such transfers. Now, that’s not to say Ghana’s democracy is fully consolidated. In some ways, we need to move away from the idea that democracy can ever be fully consolidated and recognize that, in a sense, it is always under threat, always being challenged. But one of the most striking things about Ghana is that it successfully made the transition from military to democratic rule, and the military has returned to the barracks and stayed out of politics ever since. In terms of one of the biggest trends in West Africa, the Ghanaian experience is a particularly valuable one to learn from.
I also think we have really interesting examples elsewhere. For example, two countries very close to my heart—Zambia and Kenya. Kenya, on the one hand, is in the middle of a very intense period right now. On one side, you have a government trying to push through very unpopular economic policies, and on the other, there is mass citizen engagement against them—mass protests led largely by youths—alongside significant human rights abuses and violations in the government’s attempts to repress those protests. And so, again, I’m not for a second saying that Kenya has “got it sorted” or reached a point where democracy is fully protected and safe. But if you think about where Kenya was 40 years ago—as a one-party state dominated by Daniel arap Moi—or then move forward to 2007, when Kenya suffered serious ethnic violence after a controversial election, the progress is striking.
In response to that flawed 2007 election and the violence that followed, Kenya built a new constitution that was more inclusive, devolved power to 47 counties, and created a Supreme Court that not only exists but was one of the first courts in the world to nullify the election of a sitting president on the basis that the election didn’t meet the necessary standards. The fact that Kenya has gone through all of that—and that, in some ways, the multi-party system today could be said to be more robust than it was 20 years ago, with a stronger constitution—means that Kenya has the potential to ride out the current challenges, struggle through them, and move forward by instituting new reforms.
And I think it’s that process that gives me inspiration. It’s not easy. People have fought for it every step of the way. People have risked their lives; many have died, trying to push forward democracy, to build a more accountable and effective system, and to resist authoritarian leaders. But at the same time, that process of struggle has actually generated a situation where, over time, the institutions have become stronger. And while they still need to be strengthened considerably from here on, Kenya is in a much better position than it was—despite all the challenges the country faced in the early 1990s, coming out of its period of strongman rule.
And the same, very briefly, to an extent, applies in Zambia. Zambia, too, is struggling with the question of democracy, the government’s commitment to it, and the challenge of making progressive reforms. But at the last election, Zambia actually managed to remove an authoritarian—or increasingly authoritarian-minded—leader, President Edgar Lungu, and witnessed a peaceful transfer of power as hundreds of thousands of Zambians went out to vote. They did so even though many did not believe the election would be completely free and fair, because they believed that if they came out together in their hundreds of thousands, they could bring about political change—and they did, by voting for a change of government.
It’s also worth keeping in mind, especially for those skeptical about the feasibility of democracy in Africa, that only two countries globally moved toward greater democracy during the COVID-19 pandemic, according to major democracy ratings indices. And those two countries were Malawi and Zambia—both in Africa. So, I do think Africa provides some genuinely inspirational examples where the struggle for democracy is very much ongoing. These are countries that have not lapsed into pure authoritarianism; their institutions are gradually becoming stronger, and citizens are consistently mobilizing to safeguard their rights and liberties.
And that, I think, is a good model for other countries in different parts of the world that are now beginning to face their own democratic difficulties.
Greece has become a critical gateway for asylum-seekers, yet increasingly restrictive migration policies, harsh detention conditions, and reduced aid leave refugees in precarious circumstances. Amid systemic exclusion, NGOs like REFUGYM, Sama Community Center, and El-Sistema Greece foster hope, dignity, and belonging through education, sports, arts, and grassroots initiatives. Drawing on interviews with NGO leaders, refugees, and first-hand field observations, this article highlights both the barriers asylum-seekers face and the community-led solutions redefining resilience. In a climate of tightening borders and rising polarization, refugee-led spaces remain vital for empowerment, solidarity, and imagining more inclusive futures.
By Layla Hajj*
On July 9th, 2025, Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis announced that Greece will stop the processing of asylum applications arriving from North Africa for three months, claiming that those who enter the country illegally will be “arrested and detained.” Despite the Greek Council for Refugees demanding that there be no suspension of asylum under the premise that it is “illegal,” a violation of international law, and a demonstration of Greece’s failure to guarantee basic fundamental rights, Greece has justified their migration restrictions with the influx of migrants arriving via the Mediterranean route. The government defends that they must halt all illegal migration to increase their country’s security and ensure that they have the adequate resources to distribute to their own citizens, who are currently facing issues such as widespread unemployment.
Those who make it to Greece live in detention centers, formally called refugee camps. Despite government officials denying all accusations, Cyprus and Greece have been repeatedly accused of human rights violations and push backs against migrants by the European Court of Human Rights and other councils.
While camps have always been isolated, cast away in remote mountains outside of the line of sight of most Greek citizens, they have become increasingly restricted in recent years. In 2020, the Greek government built 10 foot concrete retainer walls around a camp referred to as Malakasa 1, which was already surrounded by barbed wire. Within these towering walls, the government has limited the entrepreneurship of refugees, including shutting down most, if not all, of the small businesses running in the camps.
The government has even limited assistance for basic survival necessities. In 2021, between the months of October and December, the state stripped asylum seekers of cash card assistance, a provision that impacted many thousands of asylum-seekers (Refugees International). In 2024, cash assistance was not paid out to migrants for the months of May, June, July, and August. Recently in March of 2025, the government reduced the eligibility period for Refugee Cash Assistance (RCA) and Refugee Medical Assistance (RMA) from 12 months to 4 months. The government has not provided a specific reason for the halting of said assistance.
In an interview with Britty Grace, founder of the NGO REFUGYM and a former service worker in Malakasa 1, she shared some insights into the realities of life inside the camps. “People refer to the camps as prisons” she revealed. People are often uninformed of their rights, detained in the camps for weeks on end for paperwork processing, which inhibits their ability to get a job and provide for their families, and are stripped of housing opportunities overnight. And when asked if the conditions inside of camps have improved over the years, she responded with a direct “No. Things have gotten worse. And when you think things can’t get any worse, they do.”
Britty Grace started working in camps in 2016. Two years later, she started REFUGYM, an NGO that provides community-led-sports programming and language lessons to asylum-seekers. While there are many NGOs like Grace’s dedicated to servicing individuals living in refugee camps, the Greek government has placed several restrictions on their entry. According to Grace, the process of registration with a camp is “very expensive, bureaucratic, and difficult. Even after registration, it ultimately comes down to the discretion of the camp manager. Oftentimes, they don’t provide a reason for kicking us out. And I guess they don’t have to – they’re in charge.”
Grace was kicked out of the camp 5 times over the course of 6 years for trying to implement REFUGYM. “When I started it (REFUGYM), I had always created it to be a community led gym in the eventuality I would be kicked out. That way, it wasn’t completely dependent on me. So when I was forced to leave, REFUGYM was still able to continue for 6 years being led by the community.” However, her continued removal from the camps made management of her organization incredibly difficult, forcing Grace to eventually move her services to an external location.
A colleague of Grace’s, Katerina Tsikalaki, who now collaborates with Grace at her new location, shares similar experiences from working within the camps. As the co-founder of the NGO Science United, she is dedicated to providing science education to displaced youth in Greece. A valuable aspect of her services is providing children with the opportunity to go on field trips to observe the subjects they are learning about.
Tsikalaki shared a vivid memory of a setback she faced while implementing her travel programming: “A few years ago, I spent time planning a science field trip for the kids so that they could visit the Athens Science Festival. It was a much needed opportunity for them to get out of the camp and learn. However, on the planned day of the excursion, the minister abruptly decided to lock down the camp for what he described as procedures. Instead of a fun science excursion, the kids were stuck in the camps all day, watching their parents run through another round of security checks.”
“This was not an isolated event,” Tsikalaki continued. “While residents are allowed out of the camp, they must show identification. And if something goes wrong, they must remain in the camp until further notice. The children, and even adults, absolutely do not have the same rights as Greek residents outside of the camps. But it’s not surprising. We now have a very far-right minister of migration and asylum, Thanos Plevris.”
In the face of strict policy, refugees, with the support of NGOs, still manage to create their own spaces for belonging and success. Since relocating REFUGYM to the Sama community center, positioned right outside Malakasa 1 and 2, Britty Grace has been able to do so much more with her organization. A big part of REFUGYM’s programming has always been the escapism element that it presents participants – before from the typical day in the camps and since relocating, from the camps altogether.
“People come to hang out at Sama when we’re not there. It’s a safe space – a home,” Grace reflects.
Jumping in to support Grace’s comment, a refugee attending a Sama event revealed that “Sama makes life in the camps bearable. Sama gives me a purpose. When I leave to go back to camp, I am more joyful and hopeful.”
Sama is both a place of comfort and excitement. REFUGYM’s sports programming includes climbing trips, hiking, watersports, boxing, yoga and more. The center also hosts women’s weekly only days, cultivating a space in which women feel empowered and secure by offering activities like self-defense and meditation. On top of programming, Sama offers medical services and asylum support every week with the help of doctors and social workers from other NGOS.
A 16 year old frequenter of Sama serves as a prime example of the impact of the centers’ multifaceted program opportunities. He came to Sama illiterate and with a very bad eye condition. However, Britty Grace was able to connect him with an ophthalmologist and get him strong prescription glasses. From that point forward, his confidence increased exponentially. He became literate and learned English within months. Now, he helps translate the English classes for his less-fluent peers. This boy is one of many dedicated participants at the Sama community center. “People often attend 3 or 4 language classes. They are thirsty and keen for knowledge!” Grace exclaimed.
“Over the years a lot of people have asked me to write reference letters for them from when they were a leader in our program, and then that helped them to obtain a job,” Grace revealed. Their dedication inside Sama presents far-reaching opportunities.
Sama community center has also manifested into a space for cultural exchanges. Oftentimes, a Greek native named Maria, who helps teach the Greek lessons, plays music for the migrants on weekends. In return, migrants teach songs to their peers in their native language. “It is a super lovely reciprocal exchange of music. This is such an amazing, organic element that we should encourage,” Grace reflects. “Music is so universal and is an incredible way to promote mutual understanding and connection.”
El-Sistema Greece, a partner organization of REFUGYM, utilizes music as its key tool to promote unity. The organization is a Greek-led NGO that teaches music to both displaced youth and Greek locals, cultivating a space that promotes understanding and cohesion. The team is adamant that they remain a completely Greek team in order to foster a tight-knit community that promotes Greek inclusion, and makes the clear statement that Greece is an inviting country.
In an interview with Anis Barnat, co-founder of the NGO, he explained that: “What we developed is not so much music lessons, it’s nice but it’s not the purpose of what we’re doing. The social element is the most important one and the values that we’re giving to the kids, like learning how to understand differences and how to understand that barriers are most of the time very psychological so you have to overcome that. We try to give our kids as much control over the lesson plan as possible, and encourage them to work together in order to devise a plan. This is the thing that is lacking, I think, in the world in general. Fear and polarization are overtaking our world – and we seek to combat that division through El-Sistema. I love the arts, but we are creating good people, good leaders, and good citizens.”
“It’s essential to start community led projects so that they can be sustainable,” adds Grace. “In such programs. community members feel like it’s their space, so they contribute to it. It’s not just something that they passively show up to. They contribute to it, they help with upkeep, cleaning, and teaching. It’s a collective space as opposed to a hierarchical one.”
We will only see more people displaced from their home countries with the rise of climate change, poverty, and global conflict. In such a time, it is critical to lean on communities and cultivate spaces for inclusion. In the words of Britty Grace, “we must break down barriers in order to foster belonging.”
Layla Hajj is a rising senior at the National Cathedral School in Washington, D.C., and the founder of Refugee Youth Support, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit providing tutoring, mentorship, and school-prep programs for refugee children in the DC area. Over the past three summers, she has interned with the Blossom Hill Foundation, supporting educational initiatives for displaced youth worldwide. She has also traveled to Jordan and Greece to teach English to refugee children, conduct interviews with migration experts and asylum-seekers, and document grassroots efforts to build inclusive communities.
As a youth writer and advocate, Layla works to empower migrant youth and address systemic barriers facing displaced communities. For this article, she draws on interviews with NGO leaders and refugees, as well as her first-hand experiences working near refugee camps, aiming to amplify and contextualize the voices of migrants themselves.
GreeceRefugee.info. (n.d.). “Information and services about rights and procedures for refugees in Greece.” https://greece.refugee.info/en-us (accessed on September 1, 2025).
In an exclusive interview with ECPS, Professor William Schabas, one of the world’s foremost authorities on genocide and international criminal law, warns that the Gaza crisis represents a “litmus test” for the credibility of international justice. He argues that the case filed by South Africa against Israel at the ICJ is “arguably the strongest case of genocide ever brought before the Court,” citing Israeli military actions and statements by senior officials as evidence of genocidal intent. Professor Schabas also highlights Prime Minister Netanyahu’s populist rhetoric, framing Gaza’s population as an existential threat, which he links to patterns of incitement fueling atrocities. Crucially, he stresses that third-party states, including the US, Germany, and others risk legal liability as “accomplices to genocide.”
In an extensive interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor William Schabas—one of the world’s foremost authorities on international criminal law and genocide studies, and a professor at Middlesex University—offers a detailed assessment of the unfolding crisis in Gaza through the lens of international law, populist politics, and global governance. Coming from a family of Holocaust survivors, Professor Schabas warns that Gaza represents a “litmus test” for the credibility of international justice and the authority of global legal institutions.
At the heart of his analysis is a stark conclusion: the case brought by South Africa v. Israel before the International Court of Justice (ICJ) is “arguably the strongest case of genocide that has ever come before the Court.” He argues that evidence of genocidal intent can be inferred not only from Israel’s military conduct but also from statements by senior Israeli officials, such as Defense Minister Yoav Gallant’s remarks about cutting off food, water, and electricity in Gaza. “We have more than just a pattern of conduct—we also have statements and clear indications of policy. All of these must be considered together when making a final judgment,” said Professor Schabas.
Professor Schabas also highlights how Prime Minister Netanyahu’s populist framing of Gaza’s population as an existential threat has intensified concerns about incitement and mass atrocity crimes. “Racist populist rhetoric has often been part of genocidal contexts, mobilizing mass support for atrocities. We see elements of that dynamic in Israel today,”he said. Drawing comparisons to Rwanda (1994) and the Namibia genocide (1904–1906), he underscores both the parallels and distinctions, warning against simplistic analogies while emphasizing recurring patterns where populist narratives fuel extreme violence.
Importantly, Professor Schabas stresses that third-party states—including the US, Germany, Canada, and others—risk being held legally accountable under Article III of the Genocide Convention for aiding and abetting Israel through military and political support. He warns: “To the extent that they are providing material assistance of a significant nature, they can be held responsible as accomplices to genocide.”
Finally, he frames Gaza as a defining moment for international justice mechanisms like the ICJ and ICC, warning that failure to apply consistent standards risks entrenching a “two-tier system of international law” and undermining human rights globally: “These institutions are absolutely vulnerable, and they are aware of it. Gaza is a test for their credibility and authority.”
This interview situates Gaza within broader debates about populism, authoritarianism, and international accountability, offering an urgent call to rethink legal, institutional, and political frameworks for preventing mass atrocities in an era of resurgent populist authoritarianism.
Here is the transcript of our interview with Professor William Schabas, edited lightly for readability.
Destruction in Shejayia, Gaza City, Gaza Strip. Photo: Dreamstime.
Gaza Is a Litmus Test for the Credibility of International Justice
Professor Schabas, thank you very much for joining our interview series. Let me start right away with the first question: As a leading genocide scholar and coming from a family of Holocaust survivors, before delving into the legal and political complexities, how would you characterize the current situation in Gaza from the perspective of international law? Considering the patterns of conduct, the scale of destruction, and official statements by Israeli leaders, do the unfolding events appear to meet the legal thresholds of genocide, crimes against humanity, or ethnic cleansing under Article II of the Genocide Convention, or are we still at a stage where these legal categories remain indeterminate?
Professor William Schabas: There’s always going to be debate about legal categories, and you’re asking me, as a scholar and specialist in the field, to make an assessment. Ultimately, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) will deliver its judgment, primarily in the case filed by South Africa against Israel. In my view, South Africa’s case is exceptionally strong—arguably the strongest case of genocide ever brought before the ICJ. Of course, I have not seen South Africa’s full submissions, as these remain confidential until the hearing begins, which is likely to take place in two or three years. However, based on the information and material currently available in the public domain, I believe their case rests on a very solid foundation.
Based on that, I think South Africa is likely to prevail in the case, and Israel will lose and be found to have violated the Genocide Convention. You mentioned some of the factors that will be part of that assessment—the notorious statements by Israeli politicians, declarations of various kinds that continue. These all contribute to identifying the policy of the State of Israel. But there are other factors as well, mainly the conduct of Israel, which indicates that its policy is directed towards the elimination of the presence of the Palestinian Arab people in Gaza. That leads to genocide. You also mentioned other terms, like “ethnic cleansing,” which, technically speaking, is not covered by an international treaty and is not, strictly speaking, a crime under the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (ICC). However, it is used to describe a type of conduct that borders on the crime of genocide—in other words, the expulsion of people from a territory so that another population can prevail there.
I think it’s often misunderstood that there is not a bright line between genocide and ethnic cleansing. The ICJ, in its important judgments on the Genocide Convention, has clearly stated that, while ethnic cleansing is not necessarily genocide, it can also amount to genocide. So, there’s a zone between the two concepts—it’s not a sharp division.
Another commonly misunderstood point concerns intent. One of the arguments we hear from those defending Israel is that “they could have killed more people, and they haven’t,” suggesting that this proves there is no intent to commit genocide. We have encountered similar claims in assessments of the Holocaust and other historical examples of genocide, where it was argued that the absence of even greater killings indicates a lack of intent. However, this reasoning has never been accepted by courts. So, briefly—though I could speak on this subject for much longer—that is my assessment.
US and European Devotion to Israel Has Undermined International Law
Election billboard showing Netanyahu shaking hands with Trump, with the slogan “Netanyahu. Another League,” in Jerusalem on September 16, 2019. Photo: Dreamstime.
In your work on preventive obligations, you highlight that early warning mechanisms are underutilized in atrocity prevention. In Gaza, where warnings have existed for years, what explains the persistent inaction by international bodies like the UN and the ICC?
Professor William Schabas: Well, a significant problem with the United Nations is that it is ultimately guided by the political views of its member states, particularly the most powerful ones—the permanent members of the Security Council. I am talking here mainly about the United States, but I would not overlook the United Kingdom and France either. Other wealthy and influential states, primarily in Europe or European settler states elsewhere, such as Canada and Australia, are also deeply devoted to Israel. They have been reluctant to take measures that would rein Israel in and, on the contrary, have often encouraged and emboldened it, frequently turning a blind eye when Israel has engaged in particularly troubling actions. As a result, they have significantly constrained the United Nations’ ability to address Israel’s violations of international law effectively.
I think we can trace that position back a century or more, even before the creation of Israel, to when the mandate was given to the British at the end of the First World War. The British had long coveted the territory of Palestine and had encouraged Zionism for decades before receiving the mandate. In effect, what they sought was a settler state in the Middle East that would allow them to influence and control the region as much as possible.
I don’t believe that underlying objective has changed. This explains the deep devotion to Israel not only by the United States but also by the major European powers, for whom the Middle East remains of immense economic and strategic importance. They need to maintain control over the region, and they cannot rely on other governments there in the same way they can rely on Israel—although some, like Saudi Arabia, are also closely aligned with and loyal to the European powers and the United States. But they cannot count on them in the same way they can with Israel.
Israel Cannot Invoke Self-Defense While Acting Unlawfully in Gaza
Drawing on your analysis of the ICJ’s evolving jurisprudence, how might the Court balance Israel’s claims of “self-defense” with its responsibilities as an occupying power under the Fourth Geneva Convention, especially after its 2024 advisory opinion reaffirming Gaza’s occupied status?
Professor William Schabas: Israel has invoked the notion of self-defense, and this is echoed in the defenses of Israel that we hear from countries like Germany, the United Kingdom, France, and the United States. I really don’t think—I’ve thought a lot about this—that Israel can legitimately invoke self-defense in relation to what it’s doing in Gaza. Regarding the attacks that took place in October 2023, there is an element of self-defense they could claim, as this was an incursion into their territory by various Palestinian forces. However, Israel’s response in Gaza is entirely disproportionate to what self-defense would require.
Moreover, the International Court of Justice has declared the occupation of Gaza to be unlawful. You cannot claim self-defense while engaging in unlawful actions. It’s like a bank robber who fires on the police because they’re firing on him—he can’t go to court and invoke self-defense, because he is, by definition, acting unlawfully. In the same way, I don’t think Israel can credibly rely on self-defense here. In my view, this is simply a bogus argument.
Evidence of Genocidal Intent in Gaza Goes Beyond Circumstantial Patterns
Morning bombing attack on Gaza near the Al-Saraya buildings. Photo: Ahmed Fraije.
Given your argument that genocidal intent can be inferred from patterns of conduct and policy, rather than explicit declarations, how do you assess Israel’s military strategy in Gaza in the light of Article II of the 1948 Genocide Convention? To what extent do statements by Israeli leaders, such as Yoav Gallant’s remarks about cutting off food, water, and electricity, strengthen claims of genocidal intent?
Professor William Schabas:The proof of genocidal intent is almost always at the core of legal debates about whether genocide is occurring. It has been central to the judgments of the International Court of Justice in cases from the former Yugoslavia, as well as to rulings of the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia in prosecutions of individuals for genocide. The case law is quite consistent: when evidence of genocidal intent relies exclusively on conduct—in other words, on what is known as circumstantial evidence—you must be able to rule out any other reasonable explanation for that conduct. If ambiguity remains, the claim of genocide must be rejected. This principle, derived from basic criminal law, is applied in most jurisdictions when dealing with crimes of this nature and cases based entirely on circumstantial evidence.
The point, however, is that we have more than just circumstantial evidence here. We have more than a mere pattern of conduct—we also have statements and other indications of policy. All of these elements must be considered together when making a final judgment. Ultimately, this assessment rests with judges or, in some contexts, juries, depending on the legal framework. They will need to determine whether the totality of this evidence amounts to genocide.
As I mentioned at the outset of the interview, my own conclusion is that it does. However, we will have to see how the judges respond. They may not be unanimous; there could be a majority either for or against. Time will tell how they weigh the evidence. In my view, there is already sufficient evidence in the case to reach a conclusion. We must also see what arguments Israel presents in its reply and what its defense entails. If their primary claim is that they are acting in self-defense, for the reasons I’ve already explained, I don’t think they’re going to fare very well.
The ICJ Is Becoming a Forum for Issues Once Left to Politics
You have noted that international law is moving toward a broader interpretation of genocide, as seen in the ICJ’s handling of the South Africa v. Israel case. Do you believe this shift represents a new phase in international jurisprudence? How might it redefine accountability for powerful states in future conflicts?
Professor William Schabas: Yes, I think there is something significant happening at the International Court of Justice (ICJ), particularly regarding the interpretation of genocide, which is likely to make proving genocidal intent somewhat easier. I base this view not only on the conduct of the Court in some of its recent decisions dealing with genocide cases—it currently has four such cases before it—but also on the attitude taken by governments.
One of the striking features of recent litigation before the ICJ, not just in the case brought by South Africa against Israel but also in The Gambia’s case against Myanmar and Ukraine’s case against Russia, is the unprecedented number of state interventions. In the entire 80-year history of the Court, there had only been a handful of interventions in any cases until 2022–2023. Now, we have around 50 states intervening in ongoing genocide-related cases. This level of engagement has never happened before—not even in the Yugoslavia cases.
I think this indicates that states now expect the Court to do more with the Genocide Convention than it has done in the past, which may involve a somewhat more liberal interpretation of genocidal intent. However, this does not mean there is pressure to expand the definition of genocide itself; states are not seeking to add political groups or new categories to the Convention. Rather, they are calling for the Court to be more receptive to evidence indicating genocidal intent, and if the Court responds to this expectation, it will likely be reflected in its final decisions.
Time will tell, of course, but ultimately, the ICJ is the states’ court—it is, in a way, their institution. By choosing to participate, states are signaling their trust in the Court and their expectation that it will deliver justice. What is also remarkable and relatively new is that states are increasingly turning to the Court on matters that were traditionally settled in political forums like the UN General Assembly, the Human Rights Council, or the Security Council.
Now, they are asking the ICJ to decide on issues beyond genocide, such as climate change, occupation of territory, decolonization, labor rights, and even the right to strike. Instead of negotiating these matters politically, states are effectively saying: “We will let these 15 judges decide, based on the law, what should be done.” That marks a significant shift compared to how things were handled 10, 15, or 20 years ago.
The entrance sign of the International Criminal Court (ICC) at its headquarters in The Hague, Netherlands, on February 14, 2018. Photo: Robert Paul Van Beets.
Western Inconsistencies Expose a Two-Tier System of International Justice
In one of your interviews, you highlighted the selective application of the genocide label, noting that “our enemies commit genocide, not our friends.” Considering Western reluctance to describe Israel’s actions in Gaza as genocide—while readily applying the term to cases like Russia in Ukraine or China with the Uyghurs—and reflecting on your 2013 article “The Banality of International Justice” where you discuss the ICC’s tendency to target weaker states while avoiding powerful ones, do you believe this dynamic risks reinforcing perceptions of a two-tier system of international justice and undermining the credibility of international law?
Professor William Schabas: Double standards have been a feature of international law forever, really. International law was created by European colonialist states and used, in large part, to govern the rest of the world that they controlled as a result of colonization. Over time, it has evolved and changed, largely because states—particularly those that were not initially considered “states” in the European sense—have insisted that the same standards be applied to wealthy, powerful states as to what we now call the Global South.
I could give a lengthy demonstration of these double standards, particularly in the conduct of the political bodies of the United Nations. For example, when we have a political body like the Security Council and a government like the United States says, “South Africa is committing genocide against the white population”—this was President Trump’s claim a few months ago—that’s an absurd suggestion and profoundly insulting to the people of South Africa, who endured apartheid for so long. At the same time, the US dismisses South Africa’s application to the International Court of Justice against Israel as “meritless,” to use Secretary Blinken’s term. When this happens in a political forum, people tend to shrug and say, “Well, that’s politics.” Terms like genocide are used politically to condemn enemies and dismissed when it comes to allies.
The International Court of Justice and the judicial route are not entirely immune to double standards, but they are less vulnerable than political bodies. For example, in The Gambia’s case against Myanmar at the ICJ, several Western states—Canada, Germany, France, the UK, Denmark, and the Netherlands—filed a joint intervention in late 2023, before South Africa filed its case against Israel. In that intervention, they called for a more liberal approach to genocide, suggesting that genocidal intent could be inferred from factors like forced displacement within a territory—something we see regularly in Gaza—or the victimization of children, which we also see very dramatically in Gaza.
Of course, these states didn’t have Gaza in mind when they submitted that intervention, and they would likely reject any argument applying their position there. But they are now, in a sense, stuck with their own words. For instance, Germany later intervened in the Ukraine v. Russia case and took a different stance. There, Germany did not call for a broader interpretation of genocide; instead, it leaned toward a stricter interpretation, because it suited their position defending Ukraine’s claim that Russia was misusing the term “genocide.”
This inconsistency will likely embarrass Germany and others before the ICJ when lawyers point out that they argue one thing in one case and the opposite in another. In a judicial environment, it is harder to sustain such contradictions than in a political environment, where people can simply dismiss it as “just politics.”
Populist Incitement Can Mobilize Mass Support for Atrocities
Benjamin Netanyahu, Prime Minister of Israel visits the Synagogue of Copacabana in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil on December 28, 2018.
Considering Prime Minister Netanyahu’s populist framing of Gaza’s population as an existential threat, how do you assess the relationship between populist political rhetoric, incitement, and the potential establishment of genocidal intent? Can parallels be drawn with earlier contexts—such as Rwanda in 1994—where inflammatory discourse played a decisive legal role, and to what extent do such political narratives influence judicial assessments at the ICJ?
Professor William Schabas:This is a complicated question to answer because you’re asking me to make parallels or equivalences between what happened in Rwanda in 1994 and what’s going on in Israel today. Parallels are always difficult to draw, and I see this increasingly in discussions about genocide. There is a tendency, when we talk about genocide, to treat the concept—and the Genocide Convention itself—as something premised mainly on the Holocaust, the Shoah of the Second World War.
People often say that the Genocide Convention resulted from the Holocaust, as a direct reaction to it. But that’s not entirely accurate. I’ve examined the drafting history of the Genocide Convention in great detail, and the convention itself explicitly points out that genocide has been committed at all times in human history. The same is true of the General Assembly resolution that preceded it. In 1946, 1947, and 1948, when the Genocide Convention was being adopted, there was a very clear desire to emphasize that genocide is not only about the Holocaust but also about other historical examples.
When we compare different genocides and attempt to draw parallels, we find significant differences among them, which makes it hard to generalize. You mentioned populism, and indeed, racist populist rhetoric has often been part of genocidal contexts. Mobilizing mass support for atrocities is common, and we do see elements of that in Israel. There is opposition, of course, but it is relatively subdued. Many within the Israeli population, without explicitly endorsing what Netanyahu and his government are doing, are primarily focused on rescuing captives—the hostages in Gaza—rather than on acknowledging the scale of crimes and abuses being perpetrated against Palestinians.
One analogy I’ve found striking comes from my recent reading for an article I’m writing on what is widely recognized as the first genocide of the 20th century: the genocide perpetrated by Germany in Namibia, then called Southwest Africa, between 1904 and 1906. That conflict began with a rebellion by the local indigenous people against German colonial rule, during which, according to German accounts, serious atrocities were committed by the rebels. The rebellion itself was not peaceful; it was quite brutal. Germany’s response, however, was genocidal. Today, Germany acknowledges this as genocide, though it classifies it as a “historic genocide” to distinguish it from genocides covered by international law and to limit its legal obligations.
But what I find striking are the parallels between the genocide that took place in Namibia in 1904 and what has happened in Gaza over the last two years. Not that Germany would want to draw this parallel, of course, but there are undeniable similarities. The German brutality was a response to a rebellion by the people of Namibia, yet Germany does not claim it was acting in self-defense. Instead, it has since apologized and officially acknowledged that it committed genocide between 1904 and 1906.
That said, there are also important differences between these cases. There are some similarities between the Rwandan genocide and what we see in Gaza, but Rwanda’s genocide was largely a mass atrocity carried out by irregular forces. In contrast, the situation in Gaza involves actions conducted by the Israeli army, using highly advanced and modern weaponry. Rwanda’s context was also quite different because it did not involve the colonial settler-state dynamics that are present in Gaza.
Each case of genocide has its own distinctions and unique historical circumstances. I think we must be very careful about expecting them all to follow a single pattern or model.
Article III Makes Enablers Responsible: US and Germany Face Legal Exposure
Given the ICJ’s clarification that states party to the Genocide Convention have obligations both to prevent genocide and to avoid complicity, how should countries like Germany and the United States—as major suppliers of military aid to Israel—be held accountable under international law? Moreover, how should international legal frameworks evolve to better define the responsibility of third-party enablers, particularly when geopolitical alliances influence states’ actions and responses?
Professor William Schabas: The Genocide Convention specifies explicitly in Article III that you violate the Convention by complicity—by being an accomplice to genocide—and what you’ve referred to as “enablers.” You’ve mentioned the United States and Germany, but there are other states as well that have been enabling Israel in different ways.
To the extent that they are providing material support of a significant nature—and there’s no doubt this applies to the United States, Germany, and others—they can be held responsible as accomplices to genocide. In fact, there is currently a case before the International Court of Justice (ICJ) where Germany is being charged with complicity in genocide, filed by Nicaragua.
There is another important facet you’ve raised regarding the prevention of genocide. The treaty is formally titled the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, yet its provisions largely concern punishment. However, in the landmark 2007 judgment in Bosnia v. Serbia, the ICJ developed a significant doctrine on prevention. The Court emphasized that the obligation to “prevent” genocide is meaningful and binding. States party to the Convention—including Germany, the United States, and more than 150 others—have a duty to use their influence on other states or entities perpetrating genocide.
In Bosnia v. Serbia, the Court clarified that states are not required to send troops but must take all lawful measures available to prevent genocide. For example, in 1994, when France stood by as the Rwandan government perpetrated genocide against the Tutsi population, there was arguably a legal obligation to act—even though no case has yet been brought before the ICJ on that matter.
Importantly, the Court also ruled that this duty arises not only when genocide is being committed but when there is a serious risk of genocide. That sets a lower threshold. In Gaza, there is, at the very least, a serious risk of genocide. This means that states like Germany and the United States have a legal obligation to use their influence on Israel to prevent it.
Furthermore, because the ICC has jurisdiction over the territory of Palestine, this opens the possibility that German and American leaders could be investigated and potentially prosecuted as individuals for failing to prevent genocide or for aiding and assisting Israel.
Finally, much of this has implications for domestic litigation as well. Activist lawyers in various countries are already pursuing cases, and the legal principles developed by the ICJ and ICC are increasingly being used to support these efforts.
European Hypocrisy on Gaza Undermines Decades of Human Rights Advocacy
You have suggested that Gaza represents a “litmus test” for the credibility of international justice mechanisms. If the ICJ and ICC fail to apply consistent standards to Israel as they have in other contexts, what are the long-term implications for global governance, human rights protection, and the authority of international law?
Professor William Schabas: Yes, it’s a test for the courts. There have been similar tests in the past, and I’ll give you an example of a historic one involving the International Court of Justice in the 1960s. The Court was confronted with a case filed by two African states, Ethiopia and Liberia, both of which had also been members of the League of Nations. They brought a case against South Africa concerning Namibia and the administration of the mandate—and later the trusteeship—over Namibia by the South African government, which had imposed apartheid there.
The case was ultimately thrown out by the International Court of Justice by a single vote. It was a very close decision, but it severely discredited the Court. Well, not everywhere. In South Africa, and probably in the United Kingdom, the United States, and some other European colonial powers like Belgium and perhaps France, there was a sigh of relief when that ruling came down. But in most parts of the world, countries and people were deeply shocked by the Court’s decision.
For the next 20 years, the ICJ had very little work. It went years without holding any trials because the world, in a sense, had voted its disapproval. It was terribly disappointing, and the Court had lost its credibility. Slowly, it has regained that credibility, and the judges today are well aware of this history.
I think at the International Criminal Court, the judges and the prosecutor are also aware that, for too long, the ICC has been seen as a court dealing primarily with situations in Central Africa and resisting opportunities to engage with cases involving major powers. Even as it has begun to shift away from that focus, it remains vulnerable to criticism—especially since it has concentrated so much of its efforts on Russia and Ukraine while devoting relatively few resources to Gaza.
It has now taken some steps with the issuance of two arrest warrants, and I believe there are probably two more—against Smotrich and Ben-Gvir—that have either been issued or are about to be issued, though it’s unlikely that will be made public. We won’t know for sure until, or unless, those individuals are apprehended, which could happen at some point in the future.
But yes, these institutions are absolutely vulnerable, and they are aware of it. I should also note that it’s not only the United States that is being discredited for its attitude towards Gaza—it’s also many European states. For the last 20 or 30 years, European countries have enjoyed a position of moral authority, lecturing others around the world about human rights violations, calling them to account, and supporting NGOs in these efforts—many of which I’ve supported myself.
But this reveals a profound hypocrisy, and it’s becoming increasingly transparent. This damages the credibility of their broader efforts to promote human rights globally. I won’t limit this critique to the so-called “Global South” either; even in the United States, there have been human rights violations, and European states have occasionally intervened—for example, in death penalty cases before the US Supreme Court.
Nonetheless, Europe’s sanctimonious attitude—this assumption of being the “most human rights-friendly” part of the planet—is now exposed as deeply inconsistent, particularly due to its unwillingness to apply the same standards to Gaza. That said, there are exceptions. A few European states, such as Ireland, Spain, Norway, and Slovenia, have taken more principled positions. But for many others, their stance has been quite shocking, and I believe they will ultimately pay a price for it.
Restoring Trust in International Justice Depends on Enforcing the Law
The flag in front of the International Criminal Court in The Hague, Netherlands on March 27, 2016. Photo: Dreamstime.
And lastly, Professor Schabas, looking forward, what mechanisms—legal, institutional, or political—do you believe are necessary to restore trust in international justice, ensure accountability for Gaza, and prevent future atrocities where powerful states are involved?
Professor William Schabas: I think I’ve largely addressed that question in my previous responses. I certainly have high expectations for the International Criminal Court (ICC) and the International Court of Justice (ICJ), but, based on their historical performance, I am also prepared for disappointment. What I’m ultimately hoping for are meaningful and positive contributions from these institutions, which would—this is really the key test—demonstrate their continued relevance and authority.
People often lament that judgments are ignored. I think that’s somewhat overstated when we look, for example, at the ICJ’s orders in the South African case. While they’ve been largely disregarded by Israel, they have nonetheless had significant political impact elsewhere. The same can be said of the work of the ICC.
However, all of this underscores an important reality: the ICJ—and, to a large extent, the ICC as well—remain fundamentally dependent on states and international organizations for the enforcement of their decisions.
In both cases, the ICC can only arrest people if states assist them in doing so. And in the case of the arrest warrants against Netanyahu and Gallant, we’ve had some ambiguous statements from certain governments about whether or not they would actually arrest them if given the opportunity. Hungary openly defied the order of the Court by inviting Netanyahu—Hungary is a special case, of course, because of its government and its head of state—but there were also ambiguous statements from other governments.
That’s really the test. And it’s the same for the International Court of Justice. There is already more room for enforcement, for example, of the advisory opinion of the International Court of Justice of July 2024, which confirmed the illegality of the occupation—not just of Gaza, but also of the occupied West Bank and East Jerusalem. That needs to be addressed, and states could do a lot more in terms of implementing the conclusions of that advisory opinion.
Please cite as: Mancin, Luca. (2025). “Doing Populism with Words: A Philosophical-Linguistic Clarification of Empty Signifiers’ Role in the Post-Laclauian Approach.” Populism & Politics (P&P). European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS). August 04, 2025. https://doi.org/10.55271/pp0050
Abstract
This paper delves into the post-Laclauian approach to populism to offer a deeper theoretical and philosophical-linguistic analysis of empty signifiers within populist discourse. While the ideational approach has dominated recent scholarship by defining populism as a thin-centred ideology grounded in people-centrism, anti-elitism, and the general will, it has also been criticised for treating ‘the people’ as a homogenous monolith. In response, the post-Laclauian framework offers a more dynamic, discursive, and performative understanding of populism. However, this approach has insufficiently addressed the linguistic and pragmatic nature of empty signifiers so far. By examining the philosophical and semiotic foundations of empty signifiers throughout the works of Laclau, Lévi-Strauss, and Barthes, this article clarifies their role in the bi-directional construction of meaning between populist leaders and voters. Additionally, it argues that a clearer understanding of these signifiers is essential to grasp how populist messages resonate and are co-constructed from the demand-side. The paper concludes by outlining future directions for research, drawing especially on focus groups and quantitative text analysis to investigate empty signifiers in populist discourses further.
Keywords: populism; empty signifiers; post-Laclauian approach; performative politics; populist communication
Populism is today one of the most common, if not abused, words in the political realm (Brown & Mondon, 2021; Schwörer, 2021). In 2004, Mudde talked about a “populist Zeitgeist”, and the early 2000s coincided with a resurgence of works on populist empirical cases. Nevertheless, it is from the second decade of the 2000s that populism studies experienced a considerable number of publications (Rooduijn, 2019). The most widely accepted definition of populism is Mudde’s, who defines it as “an ideology that considers society to be ultimately separated into two homogeneous and antagonistic groups, ‘the pure people’ versus ‘the corrupt elite’, and which argues that politics should be an expression of the volonté générale (general will) of the people” (2004, p. 543).
This definition is central to the ideational approach that considers populism a ‘thin-centred ideology’. This approach highlights the three elements of people-centrism, anti-elitism, and the general will and frames the dichotomy between the people and the elite as moral (Hawkins et al., 2019; Mudde & Rovira Kaltwasser, 2018). However, scholars adopting the post-Laclauian approach have lately questioned the ideational one (Ostiguy et al., 2020). The latter depicts populist ‘the people’ as a homogenous community (Albertazzi & McDonnell, 2008; Betz & Johnson, 2004; Jansen, 2011; March 2017; Stanley, 2008) or a cohesive entity (Jagers & Walgrave, 2007; Taggart, 2000). The ideational approach to populism reveals the flexible and imaginative character of populist ‘the people’, as well as its ad hoc construction and supposed homogeneousness – making it a fictitious uniform group that cannot effectively include the entire citizenship.
This debate, however, is nothing new: from a political-philosophical standpoint, the ontological and political nature of ‘the people’ is an ever-lasting debate. During the French Revolution, the Count of Mirabeau stated that ‘the people’ “necessarily means too much or too little (…). It is a word that lends itself to everything” (Rosanvallon, 2002: 36). Accordingly, Pierre Rosanvallon represents ‘the people’ as a mysterious object whose features are not easily recognisable. While central to politics, ‘the people’ is nothing more than an assumption on which the exercise of popular sovereignty and the entire democratic system relies (Kelsen, 2018). To use Dubiel’s words, ‘the people’ is “like the ‘thing-in-itself’ of political theory” (1986: 80), that, like the Kantian Noumenon, is an imperceptible object per se, independent from human sensations and, therefore, unknowable. Thus, Rosanvallon writes that ‘the people’ is a Janus-faced entity: it is “both power and enigma: as power, it is the source of all legitimacy, as enigma it does not present an easily identifiable face” (2002: 36).
Building on these philosophical premises, the conceptualisation of ‘the people’ as an artificial homogeneity leads, according to Katsambekis (2022), to the homogeneity thesis, which risks producing rigid and aprioristic categorisation of populist actors. Ostiguy et al.’s (2020) post-Laclauian approach seems to overcome this problem by combining Laclau’s discursive approach to populism with the performative one and merging the former’s theoretical nature with the latter’s more empirical-oriented attitude. Indeed, scholars of the ideational approach postulate ‘the people’ as a homogenous socio-political construct in the definition of populism (Mudde, 2004; Taggart, 2004).
However, populist voters present different sociocultural backgrounds and diversified identities – as studies on these parties’ voters demonstrate (Akkerman et al., 2014; Inglehart & Norris, 2016; Van Hauwaert & Van Kessel, 2018). Treating ‘the people’ as a monolith would produce interpretational mistakes about populist parties and actors’ categorisation. On the contrary, ‘the people’ is multifaceted and protean and is always the product of contingent circumstances (Katsambekis, 2022). To make sense of the inner elements of Katsambekis’ critique of the homogeneity thesis and understand the post-Laclauian approach to populism and its focus on discourse and performativity, it is essential first to provide a brief sketch of the theoretical foundations of Laclau’s approach.
Laclau and Mouffe’s Hegemony and Socialist Strategy (1985) sets the philosophical-linguistic ‘guidelines’ of their constructivist discourse theory. According to their post-structuralist approach, meanings are not fixed but constantly redefined through social practices and struggles over discursive hegemony. As Torfing explains, “A discourse is a differential ensemble of signifying sequences in which meaning is constantly renegotiated” (1999: 85). A discourse becomes a ‘meaningful whole’ through articulation, connecting various elements into a unified framework. It can happen in two ways, as Laclau explains in On Populist Reason (2007): through a ‘logic of difference’ (i.e., stressing particularity and distancing it from other particularities based on a differential criterium) or through a ‘logic of equivalence’ (i.e., renouncing to a portion of that particularity to emphasise the commonalities those particularities share).
Within these chains of words, ‘nodal points’ construct the identity of a discourse by creating a network of interconnected meanings. Nodal points work as purely formal signifiers – that is, empty, floating, or overflowing signifiers (henceforth, I will refer to them as empty signifiers), words that can mean different things according to different persons (Chandler, 2007). Examples of nodal points are ‘God’, ‘Nation’, or ‘Class’, whose meaning depends on individuals’ opinions and beliefs or the discursive context. In concrete, nodal points retroactively define the identity of empty signifiers by integrating them into a coherent discourse (see Torfing, 1999).
Building on that, the post-Laclauian approach aims to study populism relationally, stressing the role of discourses and performative staging of populist leaders and supporters. Additionally, Ostiguy et al. (2020) question the moralist elements that, according to the ideational approach, would characterise populism (i.e., the anti-elitism and the dichotomy between the pure people and the corrupt elite). Similarly, they refuse the general will as the third distinctive trait of populism because populism “operates somewhere else, as a logic, as a kind of argument, as a rhetoric, or more broadly as a style or way in politics of stating, framing, and performing particular political projects” (2020: 3). Moreover, unlike the ideational one, the post-Laclauian approach provides a comprehensive outlook on populist strategic elements (De Cleen & Stavrakakis, 2017) and does not overlook the relationship between ideological construction and sociocultural dynamics (Stanley, 2008).
However, even though the post-Laclauian approach proposes a solid solution to deal with populism both as a discourse and a set of acts, it does not convincingly delve into the linguistic side of populist discourses and arguments. It does not clarify the linguistic nature and, consequently, the pragmatic role of empty signifiers in Laclau’s theory. While recent research has increasingly acknowledged the centrality of empty signifiers in populist rhetoric and empirically investigated these terms (Baloge & Hubé, 2022; Gruber et al., 2023; Sorensen, 2023; Zanotto et al., 2024; Zienkowski & Breeze, 2019) all these works focus on how leaders employ these signifiers (i.e., the supply side). Moreover, explaining these words’ role in the bi-directional identification process between populist leaders and supporters is under-researched and taken for granted from a philosophical-linguistic standpoint. Indeed, whilst from a performative perspective (Butler, 1988), populism consists of a set of acts and attributes (Canovan, 1984; Moffit, 2016; Ostiguy, 2017), what is missing is clarificatory and theoretical research on empty signifiers to highlight how their nature works in the populist identification process, with particular attention to the demand-side.
Thus, this paper theoretically elaborates on the post-Laclauian approach to populism to deepen the linguistic analysis of empty signifiers within populist communication. This article sets out the theoretical premises necessary to better understand how audiences interpret, negotiate, and co-construct the meanings of empty signifiers in populist discourses. The paper is structured as follows: First, I outline the theoretical foundations of the post-Laclauian approach. Next, I examine the bi-directional relationship between populist leaders and voters. Drawing on insights from pragmatics, I then explore the philosophical-linguistic nature of empty signifiers, referencing the works of Lévi-Strauss and Barthes. Finally, I conclude with suggestions for future research addressing the demand-side reception and co-construction of populist language between leaders and voters.
From Discourse to Pragmatic: What the Post-Laclauian Approach Leaves Unsaid
Ostiguy et al.’s (2020) post-Laclauian framework combines Laclau’s discursive approach with sociocultural and performative ones. By doing so, it stresses the logico-discursive dimension on the one hand and the sociocultural and stylistic dimension on the other.
The discursive approach to populism is traceable to Laclau’s (1977, 1980) early works on the topic and is fully elaborated in On Populist Reason (2007), drawing from Laclau and Mouffe’s (1985) theory. It investigates populism through discursive frameworks to illustrate populist claims and statements by examining the content rather than the form (Panizza & Stravakakis, 2020). According to Laclau (2007), populism represents a political logic entailing a series of unsolved socio-political demands which might link each other in a ‘chain of equivalence’ (relying on the above-mentioned logic of equivalence). Indeed, populism’s preconditions are 1) an inner frontier separating ‘the people’ and the Other, 2) a demands’ chain of equivalence highlighting the emergence of ‘the people’, and 3) the systematisation and unification of these demands through symbols (Laclau, 2007).
The etymological meaning of ‘symbol’ helps to understand Laclau’s idea of populism better: ‘Symbol’ derives from the Ancient Greek symbállo (‘to put together’, ‘to unite’). Communication (from the Latin communicare, ‘to put in common’) has a symbolic and connective nature. As discussed, this aspect is due to nodal points, the central elements of the chain of equivalence that allow understanding of what discourses deal with (Diez, 2001). Nodal points are “privileged discursive points that partially fix meaning within signifying chains”, creating “the identity of a certain discourse by constructing a knot of definite meanings” (Torfing, 1999: 98).
Therefore, nodal points are (and must be) accessible, familiar, and identifiable words or concepts used to mobilise the heterogeneous variety of individuals by acting as a mutual symbol. Recurrent nodal points in political discourses are words such as ‘God’, ‘homeland’, ‘class’, or ‘party’. However, nodal points can also be objects with a symbolic meaning, such as the umbrellas in Hong Kong protests, the yellow vests of the French Gilets Jaunes movement, the rainbow flag both for pacifism and LGBTQIA+ Community support, Javier Milei’s chainsaw, Donald Trump’s Make America Great Again (MAGA) red hat, or the Guy Fawkes mask from the movie V for Vendetta (McTeigue & the Wachowskis, 2005). All these words and icons are used to mobilise different socioeconomic and political demands around them and combine different needs in a homogenous political struggle. However, at the same time, they also manage to convey wider and various meanings through a simple name or image.
Accordingly, Torfing explains, “the conception of nodal points reveals the secret of metaphors: their capacity to unify a certain discourse by partially fixing identity of its moments”[1] (1999: 99). Again, the etymology of ‘metaphor’ is crucial to grasp the nature of populist communication: ‘Metaphor’ stems from the Ancient Greek metaphéro (i.e., ‘to carry’, ‘to transfer’). In metaphors, the meaning is transferred from one realm to another, as in the statement, “Smart as a whip”. Thus, metaphors also consist of the linguistic capacity to produce an image of reality that is much more ductile than reality itself (Martinengo, 2016) since it forces to analogise a speech element (‘smart’) with an element that is inconsistent with the speech context (‘whip’).
Concerning populist communication, the most recurrent nodal point is ‘the people’ (De Cleen & Stavrakakis, 2017; Katsambekis, 2022). In this article, I will use ‘the people’ as the main example, but the same reasoning can be made for other populist nodal points (e.g., ‘homeland’, ‘nation’, ‘sovereignty’, ‘freedom’, ‘family’, ‘gender’, or ‘justice’). ‘The people’ is used by populist leaders as an immediately recognisable word around which they build their party’s narrative. “The signifier ‘the people’ operates here as a nodal point, a point of reference around which other peripheral and often politically antithetical signifiers and ideas can be articulated” through a dynamic process (Panizza & Stavrakakis, 2020, p. 25). Thus, populism polarises society into two factions: “a dichotomic division between unfulfilled social demands, on the one hand, and an unresponsive power, on the other” (Laclau, 2007, p. 86). These unanswered and unapproached citizens’ claims produce a chain of dissent, which needs to be amalgamated around some similarities (i.e., the chain of equivalence) and polarise against an external enemy (the Other, usually the government).
However, the construction of ‘the people’, Laclau (2007) says, does not happen in a vacuum but relies on a set of performative repertoires, strengthening a broad sense of the group’s unity and cohesion (Moffitt, 2016). Accordingly, Canovan considers populism “a matter of style” (1984, p. 314) and, besides verbal and metaphorical elements (messages, us-versus-them rhetoric, and body language), also focuses on non-written communicative aspects (implications, allusions, irony, and gestures) and aesthetics (staging, symbolism, clothes, and slang). All these elements have primarily in common the appeal to ‘the people’ and seek to mobilise voters, polarise the debate in a dichotomic manner, and create a relationship between the leader and the electorate (Aalberg et al., 2016; Kazin, 2017; Knight, 1998). Generally, despite differences in the content’s framing of populist communicative style, these categorisations share the populist leaders’ attempt to forge a new identity among voters by calling into being the category of ‘the people’ through rhetorical techniques (Moffitt & Tormey, 2014).
Ostiguy (2017) works specifically on this bi-directional approach to populism by illustrating the sociocultural dimension of its support and reception. Populist success is not exclusively due to a top-down relation, in which a charismatic leader mobilises and bewitches the masses; it also consists of a bottom-up dynamic through which the voters identify themselves with the leader. While focusing on populist performance and praxis as the stylistic approach does, the novelty of the sociocultural outlook is the assumption of a political high-low axis. According to Ostiguy, the high consists of well-mannered, elegant, rationalist, and acculturate politicians who speak a cold policy and legislative language and are distant from the citizenry. By contrast, the low refers to politicians who use a language full of slang, folksy expressions, metaphors and vulgar gestures, wear comfortable and casual clothes, and present themselves as ordinary individuals like the members of their electorate.
‘The people’ image and identity result from a bi-directional and synthetical operation between leaders and voters. On the one hand, the leader advances instances in the name of a certain ‘the people’; on the other hand, those voters who are expected to embody such entity can accept, modify, or reject these instances (Ostiguy & Moffit, 2020). In other words, the identity of ‘the people’ is not imposed from the top by the leader but stems from a twofold elaboration involving voters participating in their collective identity formation. This combination of discursive, sociocultural, and stylistic approaches has the benefit of anchoring Laclau’s theory to concrete populist dynamics by giving ‘the people’ a political agency and clarifying how and why the identification process between leaders and voters works (Ostiguy & Moffit, 2020).
Then, voters have an active role in dealing with the leaders’ construction of ‘the people’, which entails a bi-directional relationship and produces a two-way echo discourse (Panizza, 2017). Still, to be effective, the two poles of the continuum (the leader and the voters) must develop a sense of belonging and construct a ‘we-ness’ by emphasising negative differences with the out-group (‘them’) and positive similarities within the in-group (‘us’). Given the mix of different subgroups constituting ‘the people’, populist leaders attempt to forge a cohesive image of it by appealing to its vague and general nature. Hence, according to the post-Laclauian approach, populism is a way of ‘doing politics’ that a) generates an us-versus-them dynamic and b) actively constructs identities through affective investments and symbolism (Herkman, 2017; Palonen, 2018).
This process is quite evident from Butler’s (1988) visual, performative perspective since specific manners, gestures, clothes, or settings (Canovan,1984; Moffit, 2016; Ostiguy, 2017) work as identity-making acts and performances. Butler explains that a repetition of acts institutes the identity because performing a specific set of attributes constitutes the identity that those attributes say to express. However, despite these advances, the post-Laclauian framework still lacks a clear account of how language itself – beyond symbols and performances – operates in populist discourse. There are several studies on populism with a pragmatic approach, but they always adopt a visual performative outlook (Casullo, 2020; Ekström et al., 2018; Kissas, 2020; Palonen, 2019; Volk, 2020).
The post-Laclauian still does not examine how specific terms become effective political signifiers through meaning-generation and listener inference processes. This gap calls for investigating empty signifiers in populist rhetoric, particularly from the demand-side perspective. Hence, in the next section, I intend to do so by looking at the branch of the philosophy of language known as pragmatics, which investigates, beyond a statement’s literal meaning, the meaning related to what a speaker intends to say.
Pragmatics and Implicit Language: A Cooperative Activity
Pragmatics deals with the relationship between speakers and linguistic signs and what individuals aim to do with language as a social and communication tool (Bianchi, 2003). Individuals speak not only to describe the world’s facts; language also entails a series of practical implications (Morris, 1938). For instance, if I state, “It is raining”, I am describing a natural phenomenon, but I might also suggest to my friend to take an umbrella. Therefore, pragmatics focuses on analysing the implicit meaning of a message and a speaker’s intention and always requires an understanding of context (i.e., interlocutors’ identities and shared knowledge, linguistic co-text, and spatiotemporal coordinates).
Pragmatics mainly deals with ambiguity, deixis, and figurative language, which entail using implicit language. Indeed, in all these cases, the speaker does not convey all the information, and the statement’s meaning is not entirely clear. Consequently, the interlocutor must ‘interpret’ that by relying on the context. However, implicit language is essential; otherwise, our language would be too wordy and cumbersome, and every communication would be too time-consuming. For example, if I tell my friend, “Go downstairs and close the door, please”, I am implicitly informing her that there is an open-door downstairs (something that she probably already knows from the context, and I do not need to repeat).
The British philosopher Herbert Paul Grice (1975) explained the mechanisms of implicit language through the theory of implicature. The theory relies on the Principle of Cooperation, a series of four maxims that reflect the expectations each of us has when participating in a conversation. These maxims are of quantity, quality, relation, and manner and require the speakers, during communication, to be informative, truthful, relevant, and clear, respectively. This principle implies that all participants contribute to communication according to the discourse’s purposes and orientation.
Hence, every utterance has two meanings: the expression’s (i.e., the literal meaning) and the speaker’s (i.e., the speaker’s intention, which implies an interpretative process). The speaker’s meaning, as said, is often implicit, and Grice (1975) calls it implicature – which can be conversational or conventional. For instance, I ask my friends, “Are you coming to the stadium?” and they answer, “We are working”. Their answer is not literal but implies they cannot go to the stadium because of their work. I must draw the implicature based on my knowledge of the world (i.e., when individuals are working, they cannot do something else). Besides the value of the linguistic economy and the chance to have interpersonal communication, implicit language also plays a pivotal role in persuasion. Indeed, implicit statements convey messages that bypass epistemic vigilance and critical thinking more easily than explicit ones (Lombardi Vallauri, 2019).
Consequently, implicit language is used as an in-group identity marker in political communication by emphasising dichotomic rhetoric (Cominetti et al., 2023; Sbisà, 2007). Simple examples are proposed by Lombardi Vallauri (2019), analysing Silvio Berlusconi’s Forza Italia 2006 electoral campaign. On some of his electoral posters were the following statements: “Do we stop major works projects? No, thank you” and “Illegal immigrants at will? No, thank you”. These declarations announce an adverse scenario – no public investments and more illegal immigrants – and Forza Italia simply positions against them. However, these claims also suggest – and citizens elaborate that from them – Berlusconi’s adversaries will pursue those measures if they win. Another strategy to exploit implicit language for political purposes consists of using common names such as ‘migrants’ or ‘homosexual’ to convey cliches, as these words generate stereotyped and oversimplified images in the listeners’ minds (Lakoff, 1987; Levinson, 2000; Putnam, 1975). After all, since implicit language rests on close and necessary cooperation between interlocutors, one speaker may use ambiguous terms to persuade the other. Therefore, common names strategically exploit their vagueness as they are accepted more readily and subjected to lower critical scrutiny.
Something similar happens with imprecise and non-specified statements that may refer to several entities or objects. It is particularly evident with terms known as deictic expressions (e.g., ‘here’, ‘now’, ‘this’, or ‘that’) or for placeholder words(e.g., ‘democracy’, ‘freedom’, or ‘justice’) that change meaning according to context and listeners (Ophir, 2018). As said, all deictic expressions have a concrete reference only within a context, and it is appropriate to make semantic use of it to grasp their meaning (Bianchi, 2003). When dealing with intentional deixis used for descriptions or demonstrations, they (can) create ambiguity. To fully grasp the meaning, one always needs an indication from the speaker unless the interlocutor shares prior knowledge gained from the context (e.g., I say “That” and point to it with my finger if we have not talked about the said object yet).
Advertisements use the same mechanism: consider the claim “Paradise Island Hotel: experience the best in Acapulco” from Lombardi Vallauri (2019). ‘Experience the best’ will have several meanings or mental connotations depending on individuals’ experiences, tastes, and beliefs. Due to its vagueness, the statement allows everyone to interpret and react to that personally. As a result, the same message leads to several, and potentially opposite, outcomes. It happens the same with the two examples from Forza Italia given above. ‘Major works projects’ and ‘At will’ are vague and imprecise because they are deliberately unspecified so that voters can ascribe to these expressions whichever meaning they want to and fill them depending on their opinions, beliefs, and experiences.
The parallels between implicature, strategic vagueness, and political placeholders lead us back to the concept of the empty signifier. In populist discourse, these signifiers are effective precisely because their meaning is open to personal inferences and interpretations, allowing each listener to make their own associations. Empty signifiers are thus not mere rhetorical tools but real pragmatic acts of co-construction of meaning. Now, populism is known for its wide use of strategic vagueness (Mény et al., 2002) since it recurs to several placeholders, such as ‘God’, ‘homeland’, ‘class’, or ‘party’, as Laclau (2007) explains. Ambiguity is unavoidable if not even necessary for populism: “The language of a populist discourse – whether of Left or Right – is always going to be imprecise and fluctuating […] because it tries to operate performatively within a social reality which is to a large extent heterogeneous and fluctuating” (p. 118). Therefore, populist communication can achieve the same goals of statements like “Paradise Island Hotel: experience the best in Acapulco” or “Illegal immigrants at will? No, thank you” (Lombardi Vallauri, 2019). Voters interpret populist leaders’ (deliberately vague) words as they want and always find a way to identify with them (if needed).
However, the more the identification with a nodal point is extended, the more the precision of this identity is impoverished because it is too generic and vague. A concrete example from language is deictic expressions like ‘here’, ‘now’, ‘this’, or ‘that’: they can indicate everything, but the precision of their ‘identification’ of a specific object decreases. Consequently, in populist discourses, the nodal point is often an empty signifier (Laclau, 2007), as it must be flexible and ambiguous enough to encompass different meanings to unify various questions and construct a collective identity. Empty signifiers are malleable and adaptable to various sociocultural, political, and economic situations. They are defined as signifiers “with a vague, highly variable, unspecifiable, or non-existent signified. Such signifiers mean different things to different people: they may stand for many or even any signifieds; they may mean whatever their interpreters want them to mean” (Chandler, 2007: 78).
In pragmatics, implicit language requires the listener’s proactive participation in the speaker’s words to grasp the meaning. Similarly, I argue that empty signifiers require the recipients to fill the void with their own, often implicit, meaning for their role as linguistic glue to work. This aspect is precisely what the post-Laclauian approach has taken for granted, even though it adequately explains the bi-directional linkage between the leader and the supporters from a communicative standpoint. This work is the same cooperative one that the speaker and listener establish when the former does not convey all the information, and the latter must ‘interpret’ the message based on the context. As seen, however, context consists of linguistic and extralinguistic elements. Therefore, to fully understand the mutual construction of identity between leaders and voters, it is worth analysing not only the visual and performative aspects of populism but also its linguistic core. In what follows, I examine how empty signifiers function pragmatically and what their nature reveals about the dynamics of populist identification from a voter-centred perspective.
Empty Signifiers: A Philosophical-Linguistic Detour
It is worth starting from de Saussure’s (2011) work to understand empty signifiers’ linguistic nature. The Saussurean structural linguistic theory first entails the distinction between language and speech. Language (or langue) is the social element of linguistic dynamics and relies on structures, codes, and social rules linked to a specific community (Bernstein, 1964). Language also composes the conditions of possibility of the speeches (or paroles), which instead represent the individual, creative, and singular aspects of speaking and writing expressing personal thoughts and feelings. Thus, the language is not a scheme which allows speakers to label objects and things with their names. Conversely, each linguistic sign is the product of a combination of a signified (i.e., the mental concept: the abstract image we have of a specific object) and its signifier (i.e., the acoustic image: the reaction produced by the physical existence of the object in the form of written or spoken word) (see Figure 1).
In de Saussure’s system, the sign ‘house’ (a conventional and arbitrary word) unifies an acoustic image (the signifier: the letters composing ‘house’) with a specific mental concept (the signified: the mental and personal image of ‘house’) (Chandler, 2007; Torfing, 1999). Thus, the signified and the signifier are mutually tied: they are inseparable, but their relationship is arbitrary. Indeed, speakers can express the same meaning through different signifiers – both in translations and via periphrasis or synonyms. For de Saussure, this arbitrariness is an unmotivated and unnecessary behaviour where the chimaera of empty signifiers thrives (Chandler, 2007). For this reason, the scheme in Figure 1 does not apply to empty signifiers, as the research of Claude Lévi-Strauss and Roland Barthes shows.
In the Introduction to the Work of Marcell Mauss (1987), Lévi-Strauss describes the words ‘man’ and ‘hau’ as empty signifiers. Mana and hau must be considered as words that per se do not mean anything concrete and specific, but that can be used for everything, such as, in English, the already mentioned deictic expressions ‘the thing’, ‘that’, or ‘something’. Lévi-Strauss’ research stems from the symbolic dimension of language, according to which symbols are more concrete than the objects they depict. This happens because, as shown, a symbol conveys a broader abstract meaning than the object that materially composes it. In these cases, de Saussure’s (2011) framework is subverted, and the signifier precedes and determines the signified; namely, the acoustic image produces the mental concept. Thus, mana and hau are “the subjective reflection of the need to supply an unperceived totality” (Lévi-Strauss, 1987: 58).
According to Barthes’ Myth Today (2006), mythical constructions are discourses relying on a peculiar semiological system. In Barthes’ works, ‘myths’ are all those narratives that offer an extra level of reading than the literal one – so propaganda or advertising, for example, also fall into this category. In myths, the relationship between the signifier, the signified, and the sign is still present; however, contrary to de Saussure’s (2011) idea that the sign is the mediation between the signified and signifier, Barthes considers myths as a “second order semiological system” (p. 128). Accordingly, the sign in the first order becomes a signifier in the second one (see Figure 2). Then, it is crucial to distinguish between denotation and connotation. Denotation is a sign’s direct and ‘literal’ meaning, while connotation is a personal association of images or meanings (based on sociocultural background, emotions, or beliefs) to the sign (Chandler, 2007). To put it in Fiske’s words, “Denotation is what is photographed; connotation is how it is photographed” (1990: 86). Thus, Barthes (2006) states that the first semiological order coincides with denotation, while the second is the connotation level. Therefore, in Barthes, connotation and mythical dimensions overlap.
Consider the example of a white dove: the denotation is the bird per se, while its connotation is the symbol of peace accompanying the image of a white dove in the popular imagination. The sign/signifier has two faces: one whole, the meaning in the linguistic order, and the other empty on the mythical level. This double semiological system is particularly evident in advertising and propaganda, as a famous example by Barthes (2006) also shows. One day, he says, on the cover of the Paris Match, there was a black soldier with a French military uniform – and this is the linguistic sign of the first order. The mythical second order signifier conveys messages about the great French Empire, where everyone – regardless of ethnicity and background – is treated equally, and there is no such thing as oppressing colonialism.
Hence, myth is “a double system” (Barthes, 2006: 121), led more by a communicative intention than by its literal meaning. “The signifier of myth presents itself in an ambiguous way: it is at the same time meaning and form, full on one side and empty on the other” (Barthes, 2006: 116). This emptiness and vagueness are what Lévi-Strauss (1987) highlights in mana and hau and in their attempt to represent totality. However, in mythical speeches, the aim is different and concerns a distortion and a deformation. Accordingly, Barthes states: “If I focus on the mythical signifier as on an inextricable whole made of meaning and form, I receive an ambiguous signification: I respond to the constituting mechanism of myth, to its own dynamics” (Barthes, 2006: 127).
Populist recurrent terms such as ‘the people’, ‘homeland’, ‘family’, or ‘gender’ function as empty signifiers not only because they are strategically vague but because they activate deeply embedded connotative associations shaped by personal, cultural, and emotional experiences. Much like Lévi-Strauss’s (1987) mana or Barthes’ (2006) mythic signs, their linguistic power lies not in literal reference but in their capacity to unify heterogenous meanings into a single affective node. Therefore, understanding populism requires us to investigate not only what is said but also how audiences interpret and acknowledge it.
Beyond the Signifier: Toward a Voter-centred Linguistic Turn in Populism Studies
Building on the previous sections, two core insights emerge: the fluidity and resignification of populist empty signifiers and the co-creation of their meaning in a dialogic process between leaders and audiences. As discussed, empty signifiers are not simply vague labels or stylistic choices, but they work as sites of meaning negotiation, anchored in context, speaker intention, and listeners’ interpretation. Then, it is clear why Ostiguy and Moffit maintain that “discursive acts do not ‘stand alone’ (…) but must also resonate with the lived experiences and social encounters experienced in daily life” (2020:53). On the one hand, empty signifiers unite populist discourse, and their effectiveness lies in strategic ambiguity, allowing them to serve as affective, symbolic vessels for various political demands (Mény et al., 2002). On the other hand, populism relies on a top-down relation (i.e., the leader charming the voters) but also a bottom-up dynamic (i.e., the voters’ identification with the leader) (Ostiguy, 2017).
While political leaders deliberately use vague words, their acceptance and resonance depend on the voters. It implies that meaning is co-created through a dialogic process where leaders and followers play an active role. Thus, voters are not to be considered passive recipients of political messages; instead, they interpret, accept, reject, or modify the meanings proposed by leaders. This dialogic nature occurs in visual and verbal symbols mentioned above that serve as nodal points in contemporary populism: Javier Milei’s chainsaw, the Guy Fawkes mask, the yellow vest, or Trump’s MAGA hat. Some symbols are imposed from above and circulate vertically, while others rise from spontaneous protest and are retrospectively adopted by leaders. Their power stems from symbolic condensation in both cases: they unify diverse grievances through emotionally charged, easily recognisable forms.
Dealing with a timely example, MAGA simultaneously operates as a visual icon (e.g., Trump’s red hat), a political brand, and what de Saussure has termed an acoustic image – a signifier that produces a concept in the listener’s mind. For some voters, MAGA may convey images of national pride or economic resurgence; for others, it might entail nativism or cultural exclusion. As shown in the previous sections, the MAGA’s success lies precisely in its malleability: its ability to function as a symbol filled with various – and sometimes contradictory – meanings.
This growing interest in populist discourse has led to a wave of empirical studies investigating how leaders articulate empty signifiers across various contexts. Scholars like Katsambekis (2022), Sorensen (2023), and Gruber et al. (2023) have shown how terms such as ‘the people’ and ‘the elite’ are strategically filled with different content by left- and right-wing populist parties. On their side, Baloge and Hubé (2022) highlight how Jean-Luc Mélenchon and Marine Le Pen deploy ‘the people’ with different connotations – pluralist and civic on one side, ethnic and exclusionary on the other. Similarly, Zanotto et al. (2024) apply a computational-linguistic approach to track how Italian populist parties shift the emotional charge and thematic associations of empty signifiers over time. These studies converge on a key insight: the meaning of empty signifiers is contextual, dynamic, and politically constructed.
Nevertheless, while these contributions are valuable, they all focus on the supply side. They analyse what political actors say, how they frame key terms, and how symbols are deployed in speeches or campaigns. What remains underdeveloped is the interpretive labour of audiences: how voters understand, fill, resist, or reshape these empty signifiers. This lack is especially remarkable, given how central the idea of identification is in both Laclauian and post-Laclauian theory. If, as Laclau (2007) argues, populism succeeds by unifying disparate demands into a chain of equivalence, then understanding how audiences interpret those demands is just as crucial as understanding how leaders articulate them. Some studies investigate voters and citizens, but they rely on pre-defined categories of populist content or leader’s traits rather than allowing audiences to define their interpretations of populist signifiers (Akkerman et al., 2014; Milner, 2021; Rooduijn, 2018; Spruyt et al., 2016; Voogd & Dassonneville, 2020). In these works, voters are typically profiled – demographically, psychologically, economically, or attitudinally – but not investigated as ‘meaning-makers’. As a result, the co-constructive nature of populist discourse remains methodologically underexplored. A partial exception to this common practice is the work by Şahin et al. (2021), which explores how targeted groups interpret and respond to populist discourse and empty signifiers.
To address this gap, I think it is necessary to conduct more research on populism in political psychology. This approach can only be helpful because it is poorly employed within populism studies, as Rovira Kaltwasser (2021) claims. More specifically, I believe qualitative research may help develop new studies on the fluidity and resignification of populist empty signifiers and the co-creation of their meaning from a voter-centred perspective. For instance, throughout focus groups (Kitzinger, 1994; Morgan, 1997) it would be possible to understand how voters from different parties react or interpret various empty signifiers and how these interpretations influence their political choices and vary among parties’ bases. Just as performative acts are a constant ‘confirmation’ of a said identity (Fischer-Lichte, 2008), the co-interpretation of empty signifiers’ meanings and consequences should be seen as a reiterated choice to adhere to and support a particular party. Therefore, it is crucial to understand how voters perceive empty signifiers, how they react to them, and which emotional reactions these words trigger. If scholars do not explore this second and fundamental side of the bi-directional linkage between leaders and voters, the risk is treating populism as a solipsistic practice without fully grasping its dynamics.
The theoretical basis for this turn is grounded in pragmatics and semiotics, as discussed in previous sections. Just as the meaning of a deictic expression like ‘here’ or ‘now’ depends on context, a term like ‘the people’ depends on who is saying it, when, and to whom. Nevertheless, this approach has potential limitations when applying these philosophical-linguistic elements to empirical research. I showed that empty signifiers rest on a post-structuralist and semiotic theory whose concepts are not operationalizable into clear-cut indicators or variables. Moreover, empty signifiers are highly context-sensitive and relational, a characteristic that makes it difficult to detect and measure them in empirical data through qualitative methodologies. Consequently, any empirical application of this framework must proceed cautiously and, as Zienkowski and Breeze (2019: 4) emphasise, focus on in situ analyses (i.e., carefully considering each country’s cultural, socioeconomic, and political context). Therefore, any investigation relying on focus groups while offering valuable insights must account for the instability and fluidity of empty signifiers.
However, recent advances in computational discourse analysis and machine learning may allow researchers to overcome these limitations and complement a focus-group approach by mapping patterns of ambiguity and resonance. For instance, using word embedding models like word2vec or BERT may detect signifiers with high semantic variance by tracking how key populist empty signifiers – e.g., ‘the people’, ‘family’, ‘class’, ‘gender’, or ‘nation’ – shift in meaning across ideological contexts or over time (see Mostfavi et al., 2024; Stöhr, 2024). On its side, topic modelling (see Choi, 2025) can uncover themes around empty signifiers to detect which topics are mainly associated with them. If these terms are ‘empty’, they should show high semantic drift over time, polysemy across ideological clusters, and ambiguity in co-occurring contexts – all of which can be empirically measured. However, these tools are not sufficient on their own: computational models identify patterns, not meanings; they can suggest that ‘the people’ or ‘gender’ is used differently by left and right populists, but they cannot explain why or how these differences matter for identification and political behaviour. That task still belongs to interpretive, qualitative inquiry. Still, machine learning can help track their contextual fluctuations and audience-specific interpretations at scale, especially when integrated with qualitative data from focus groups.
A mixed-methods approach is therefore essential: focus groups can reveal the interpretive logic through which individuals assign meaning to ambiguous political terms, while computational models can then scale up those insights, showing whether the patterns observed in small groups hold across broader populations and media environments. This combination respects the contextual, relational nature of populist language while expanding the empirical reach of discourse analysis. It also opens new possibilities for comparative work. For instance, new research might investigate how empty signifiers travel across national, ideological, or linguistic boundaries. New studies could also explore how they mutate or stabilise in times of crisis.
Conclusion
In conclusion, populism studies would theoretically and methodologically benefit from incorporating the voter’s interpretive role into the study of populist discourse. Additionally, this approach would allow populism scholars to avoid the trap of reductionism (i.e., treating populism as a fixed set of traits, ideologies, or leader personalities) by focusing instead on the flexibility, affective power, and communicative negotiation that sustain it. As the philosopher John Langshaw Austin (2009) reminds us, we do things with words. In populism, words do things: they mobilise, exclude, and unify. Doing populism with words means engaging in a collaborative linguistic process that constantly shapes and reshapes collective identities and political allegiances – as long as one investigates both poles of demand and supply.
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In this powerful interview with ECPS, Professor Ruth Wodak warns that “autocracy has become a global economic corporation”—a transnational network where oligarchs, libertarians, and tech barons control discourse, distort truth, and undermine democracy. From Trump’s incitement of violence to Orbán’s fear-based migrant scapegoating, Professor Wodak outlines how authoritarian populists weaponize crises and social media to legitimize regressive policies. Yet she also defends the vital role of public intellectuals, urging them not to give in to “preemptive fear.” With deep insight into the politics of fear, techno-fascism, and discursive normalization, Professor Wodak’s reflections serve as both an alarm and a call to resistance in our increasingly volatile democratic landscape. A must-read for anyone grappling with today’s authoritarian turn.
In a time when liberal democracies are increasingly challenged by authoritarian populism, far-right, disinformation, and escalating political violence, the voice of critical scholars has never been more urgent. In this in-depth interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Ruth Wodak—Emerita Distinguished Professor of Discourse Studies at Lancaster University, affiliated with the University of Vienna, and a member of the ECPS Advisory Board—provides a sobering assessment of our contemporary moment. With decades of pioneering work on discourse, racism, and the far right, Professor Wodak, who is also one of the signatories of the “International Declaration Against Fascism,” published on June 13, 2025, alongside Nobel laureates, public intellectuals, and leading scholars of democracy and authoritarianism, brings both scholarly rigor and moral clarity to an increasingly fraught public debate.
At the heart of this conversation lies a stark warning: “We are facing a kind of global kleptocracy and oligarchy that owns social media and is, in some cases, part of governments,” Professor Wodak says. Drawing on Anne Applebaum’s recent book Autocracy, Inc., she argues that autocracy has evolved into a global economic corporation—one where power, capital, and algorithmic control are intertwined and weaponized against democratic norms. This nexus, she explains, enables “very powerful individuals, libertarians, and oligarchs—supported by governments—to wield enormous influence.”
Professor Wodak also elaborates on what she calls the “politics of fear,” a strategy used by populist and authoritarian actors to exploit or fabricate crises in order to manufacture scapegoats and position themselves as national saviors. “It’s a very simple narrative,” she explains. “There is danger, someone is to blame, I am the savior, and I will eliminate the threat.” From Donald Trump’s MAGA slogan to Orbán’s anti-migrant rhetoric, such narratives are not only emotionally charged but “discursively effective in obscuring regressive agendas while appearing to restore order.”
The interview further explores how fascist traits—particularly state-sponsored or paramilitary violence—are resurfacing even in democratic societies. Professor Wodak points to cases in the United States, Germany, Turkey, and Greece as troubling examples. “We do see that the government in the US is taking very violent actions,” she warns, referring to ICE raids and militia-linked violence under Trump. Similarly, she notes how “Golden Dawn in Greece only became scandalized after the murder of a pop singer—despite its long history of violent attacks on migrants.”
Yet amid these challenges, Professor Wodak emphasizes the indispensable role of public intellectuals. Despite increasing hostility, she insists, “one shouldn’t be afraid to speak out.” Indeed, she urges scholars and citizens alike not to succumb to what she calls “preemptive fear,” which “leads you to accommodate to some kind of danger which you envision—but which is actually not there.”
In this urgent and wide-ranging dialogue, Professor Wodak offers a powerful analysis of how authoritarianism is being normalized—and how it can still be resisted.
Here is the transcript of our interview with Professor Ruth Wodak, edited lightly for readability.
Fascist Rhetoric and Violence Are Reemerging Across Democracies
Border Patrol agents monitor an anti-ICE protest in downtown Los Angeles, June 8, 2025. Demonstrators rallied against expanded ICE operations and in support of immigrant rights. Photo: Dreamstime.
Professor Ruth Wodak, thank you so very much for joining our interview series. Let me start right away with the first question: How do you interpret the contemporary resurgence of fascist traits in democratic societies, especially in light of the anti-fascism declaration you co-signed on June 13, 2025? In your view, what are the key discursive markers we should be most vigilant of, both conceptually and in concrete political communication? Could you provide some recent illustrative examples—from campaign speeches, media discourse, or policy debates—that exemplify these traits in action?
Professor Ruth Wodak: I think that’s a huge question. There are, unfortunately, many examples of what you explained just now and asked about. First, I would like to say that we should be careful when using the term fascism, because it always leads us to associate it with the 1930s, National Socialism, Mussolini, etc. So, we should be aware of what the main characteristics of fascism are, and one important point to mention is the existence of violence and paramilitary movements that support a fascist movement or government.
What we can observe right now is an increasing level of violence. For example, in the US, quite recently, there was violence in Los Angeles, where Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), along with the National Guard, were called in by President Trump to apprehend so-called illegal migrants and deport them to camps in El Salvador and other South American countries. These camps, in some ways, resemble concentration camps. Most surprisingly and disturbingly, Donald Trump had photos taken of himself at one such camp, appearing to be proud of these actions.
Now, when we think back just a few years—if you remember Charlottesville and the riots that took place there due to the attempt to remove the statue of a so-called hero of the Confederacy—the Proud Boys, a truly fascist movement of young, mainly male supporters, killed a young woman. Trump then said, “Well, actually, both the protesters and the Proud Boys were to be seen in an equal way.” So, we do see that currently the government in the US is taking very violent actions. These are still visible as snapshots—yes, they are localized in places like Los Angeles or elsewhere; they’re not yet covering the entire country. But of course, this could be a sign of what is to come. I think it’s very dangerous. And if you look back, you asked me about speeches and rallies—there was a speech by Trump where a protester entered the rally, and Trump just said, “Beat him up.” So, you can really also observe a rhetoric that orders or supports people to implement violence.
But this is not only the case in the US—it’s just a case we are all very aware of. If you look at Turkey, for example, where the Mayor of Istanbul was taken into prison, we again see violence enacted by the government. It’s not as if he was taken to court, there was a trial, and then democratic procedures were followed. No—this mayor was simply taken to prison, and as far as I know, nobody knows how long he will remain there. I depend on the media—you know much more about this.
We also saw violence—though again, very localized—in Germany, where there is no significant fascist mass movement that we can observe, except for very small groups of neo-Nazis and identitarians. But we do see assassinations and attacks on prominent politicians. There was an attack on a Social Democratic politician before the election. There are attacks on Green politicians. A mayor was actually shot. So, this is all very disconcerting.
Moreover, if we look back a little further—if you remember Golden Dawn, which was clearly a paramilitary fascist movement that was very strong in Greece around 2010 and a bit later—they enacted a great deal of violence against migrants. In fact, this only became widely scandalized when they killed a well-known Greek pop singer. Then, suddenly, it was talked about. But Golden Dawn had long used symbols of fascism, and so forth.
So, there is a trend that is leading up to the violence we see enacted today. And of course, I don’t even want to talk about Russia, because there, violence against protesters or opposition politicians has been ongoing for decades.
We’re Witnessing the Rise of Techno-Fascist Capitalism
Elon Musk speaks at the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) at the Gaylord National Resort & Convention Center on February 20, 2025, in Oxon Hill, Maryland. Photo: Andrew Harnik.
The declaration highlights “techno-fascist enthusiasts” among media barons. How do you conceptualize the role of digital platforms and algorithmic governance in sustaining what you call the “politics of fear”?
Professor Ruth Wodak: First, let me explain what the politics of fear is about. It refers to how political groups or parties instrumentalize existing crises—or exaggerate them—and sometimes even create crises artificially through fake news and disinformation. They use these crises to construct scenarios of threat and fear—very dystopian visions of decay, collapse, and terrible events looming ahead.
Then, the leader of the party or group—because there are also women who do this—presents him or herself as the savior. So, there is a kind of link: on the one hand, creating a fearful scenario, and on the other, projecting a vision or utopia where the savior will rescue the country and eliminate those deemed responsible for the crisis.
This strategy also involves the creation of scapegoats, because someone must be blamed—someone must be guilty of the major problems that exist. The identity of these scapegoats depends on the context. Sometimes they are Turks and migrants, sometimes Jews and Roma. It all depends on who is available to be constructed as the scapegoat.
In this way, the narrative becomes very simple: there is danger, someone is to blame, I am the savior, and I will eliminate the threat—then everything will be fine.
It’s a very simple narrative and a very simple argument. But many people who are currently very insecure—because of the polycrisis we are all experiencing—seem to be easily manipulated into believing such a narrative.
And now we come to social media, which plays a very big role in this manipulation and in this propaganda. If we think of the big social media networks—for example, X—and Elon Musk, who is obviously the richest man on earth, we have someone who owns such a vast platform and who can actually manipulate the content.
In this way, dangerous content and disinformation are widely distributed, while evidence and factual counter-narratives are either deleted or not distributed—or at least distributed far less. Beyond that, there are also trolls and bots who amplify this content even further. So the whole—I would say—secondary discourse world of social media is saturated with disinformation.
There isn’t enough counter-information. We do now have Bluesky, for example, which tries to counter X—quite successfully in some ways. Many people have switched from X to Bluesky as a form of protest. But still, X remains more powerful because it is backed by an enormous amount of money.
In that way, I would say, power and money are going hand in hand right now in a really unpredictable way. We haven’t experienced something like this for a long time. I would point to the Russian oligarchs after 1989—but that was more localized. Now we are facing a kind of global kleptocracy and oligarchy that owns social media and is, in some cases, part of governments.
I would also mention a recent and very interesting book by Anne Applebaum, Autocracy, Inc.—yes, “the corporation.” So autocracy has become a big economic corporation, because power is now linked to money and to specific groups of libertarians, very powerful individuals, and oligarchs who are supported by governments and who wield enormous power.
Fear of Losing Control and Status Fuels the Far Right’s Rise
White nationalists and counter protesters clash in during a rally that turned violent resulting in the death of one and multiple injuries in Charlottesville, VA on August 12, 2017. Photo: Kim Kelley-Wagner.
The declaration refers to fabricated enemies and the weaponization of security. How have right-wing populist actors used crisis narratives (e.g., migration, pandemics) to justify authoritarian measures?
Professor Ruth Wodak: We see that happening all the time. I mean, migration has become such an important agenda in this construction of fear. And looking at recent EU barometers, it’s actually quite interesting that other topics also generate a lot of fear but are not instrumentalized in the same way. The statistics show us that, for example, the fear of the cost-of-living crisis, the energy crisis, the climate crisis, and the fear of wars—yes, we have, for the first time since the 1990s and the Yugoslavian wars, a war very close to or even within Europe, namely Ukraine—all of that could also be talked about extensively and used to create fear. But it seems to be migration that is, for the far right, the so-called best agenda to be instrumentalized. And that is the case across the board. I mean, I cover especially the Austrian and German debates, but I also follow the French and British debates.
I just read The Guardian yesterday, where there were reports of anti-foreigner riots in Manchester and another city in the north of England, and I was really disturbed—because, as you know, I’ve lived in the UK for 12 years in the North, and I had never encountered anything like that. I mean, there’s xenophobia everywhere, yes, but to have these riots, which were triggered by far-right groups—this is really very scary in the UK.
And again, if you look at Austria, the extreme right, far-right party—the Austrian Freedom Party—has been leading the polls since 2022 and won the last national election. They are not in government, but right now they are still leading the polls. Their main agenda is constructing the fear of migrants, and it’s really a paradox because, on the one hand, it’s obvious that in all European countries—or all countries of the European Union—specialist workers and people with expertise in various professions are needed. There are special ways of allowing them to enter the various countries—special permits and so on—and, on the other hand, this fear of migration still seems to resonate strongly.
We have to ask why the construction of this scapegoat is so successful. And it’s especially—and again, not only—targeted at Muslim migrants. Because this fear of migrants has already been a huge manipulative device, so to speak, since as early as 1989. If you recall the fall of the Iron Curtain in 1989—the end of the so-called Eastern Bloc—you’ll remember that many people from Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Romania, and Poland entered the West—yes, the so-called West. The Freedom Party in Austria, and especially Jörg Haider—who was quite a charismatic and very clever rhetorician—constructed his entire agenda against foreigners and became very successful.
And that was not during a time of crisis. There was no economic crisis at that time. We did a big study back then, and we found that the discursive patterns used at that time are very similar to those used now—except that at the time, the migrants were white Christian people, and now we have Muslims coming from Syria, Iraq, or elsewhere as refugees. But basically, the discourse of exclusion is very similar.
And if you ask yourself what triggers this enormous fear, I think there are basically two—possibly many more—but two really important points. One is the fear of losing control, which has become salient in the context of the polycrisis, but was also very visible during the Brexit campaign. So, the fear of losing control—because so many people are coming—and then you don’t know what’s happening anymore. The slogan at that time in the UK, “Take back control,” was very successful.
The second big issue is the fear of losing your social welfare—all the benefits, your jobs—they will take things away. So you haven’t lost them yet, but you might lose out. It’s not just the people who have already lost out, as is often discussed. It’s the fear among the middle class and the lower middle class of losing their status, their benefits, their way of living. That also explains why, for example, in very rich countries like Austria, Denmark, Switzerland, and Sweden, the far right is so prominent.
Authoritarianism Thrives on Silence; Intellectuals Must Refuse It
The open letter evokes the historical memory of anti-fascist intellectuals in 1925. How do you see the role of public intellectuals and discourse scholars today in resisting what you have termed “shameless normalization”?
Professor Ruth Wodak: I think it’s a hard job, and it really is difficult to summarize—or even observe—what impact public intellectuals might have, because they are, of course, part of the elite—the so-called elite—that the far right is fundamentally campaigning against. So public intellectuals form a group that is not wanted by the far right.
That said, it’s really important that people speak out. And the more people do so—and are listened to, and their voices are heard in social media, newspapers, and so forth—the more others become aware that there is a different position, a counter-discourse. I believe that to be very important, even if it isn’t widely distributed by platforms like X or other major channels.
So the more people speak out, the better it is—and one shouldn’t be afraid of doing so. Of course, this really depends on where you live. If you are in a dictatorship or a classically authoritarian state, public intellectuals may have a very hard time—they might be imprisoned, as has happened, or even killed, as we see in countries like Russia or China. And if we look at Turkey, they are imprisoned—just like many journalists—so they are forced into exile and speak out from abroad.
But if you live in a country that still allows freedom of opinion and supports human rights and the Human Rights Charter, then it is even more important to speak out—because you have the right to do so. And you shouldn’t be afraid.
Personally, I’ve never been afraid to speak out. Of course, I’ve encountered a lot of opposition. I’m not liked by everyone—but I tell myself, I don’t have to be loved by everybody. I also see many colleagues in the US or in Germany who speak out—not only at conferences and in academic settings, but who also leave the ivory tower and engage with the public, speak in schools or wherever they’re invited.
And I believe that it’s very important not to be frightened preemptively, especially in countries where freedom of opinion exists, where you don’t have to fear imprisonment or worse. There’s no reason to silence yourself out of imagined fear. Preemptive fear is dangerous, because it makes you accommodate to a threat that you envision—but which may not actually be there.
So in that way, I encourage scholars and intellectuals who are able to speak out—to do so.
Slogans Like MAGA Obscure Regressive Agendas Through Nostalgia
A Trump supporter holds up a “Make America Great Again” sign at presidential candidate Donald Trump’s rally in the convention center in Sioux City, Iowa, on November 6, 2016. Photo: Mark Reinstein.
How would you analyze the role of Trump’s “Make America Great Again” narrative and thenarratives of Erdoğan, Putin, Netanyahu, Modi, Orban etc.—not just rhetorically but also in terms of its affective and mobilizing power? What makes such slogans so resonant across diverse audiences, and how do they function discursively to both obscure and legitimate regressive political agendas?
Professor Ruth Wodak: These slogans—and I would say these are really slogans— MAGA, for example, resonates because, as I already said, many people are afraid and feel insecure—legitimately so—because there are existential crises right now. And these slogans construct a past that seems to have been much better. I say “seems” because it never was much better. There were always problems, always crises, etc.
We once conducted a study that looked at all the crises the European Union had experienced up until 2009, and it clearly showed a continuity of crises. There were always crises, so you could say the EU was essentially moving from one crisis to the next.
It’s basically what Bauman calls “retrotopia”—a fantasy, an imaginary past that is perceived as better. Now, we can think about what Trump actually—or what he might—mean when pointing to such a past. And it’s quite obvious that the past being invoked might be the period before the civil rights movement—a time when traditional gender roles were still enforced, when there was no political correctness, and so forth.
So, a past that some people would really like to return to, or at least evoke again. But of course, this is impossible. We cannot turn the clock back, and in that sense, it remains a complete fantasy or imaginary. Yet it resonates—because there is so much nostalgia. There is nostalgia, there is a lot of anger, and there is also, as Eva Illouz puts it, a lot of love and patriotism. This imaginary—where “we all were together” in some kind of imagined white community in the US, where all these values were still upheld—resonates strongly.
The same applies, of course, in other contexts, where one has to look at the specific historical elements that are being invoked.
Meloni’s Soft Fascism Balances Between Brussels and Trump
Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni and EU Commission President Ursula von der Leyen meet in Brussels, Belgium on November 03, 2022. Photo: Alexandros Michailidis.
And lastly, Professor Wodak, you’ve researched the discourse of the European far right extensively. How would you compare the current discourse strategies of far-right and populist actors in Austria or Hungary with those in the United States, Turkey, or India?
Professor Ruth Wodak: I have not researched Turkey and India extensively, because I don’t speak the languages. And it is, of course, for us as linguists and discourse analysts, always important to look at the original texts—visual, written, oral—because we need to understand all the nuances, the intonation, the latent meanings, and so forth. So translation is not enough.
But if I now speak about what is reported, what I can read about, and if I look—as I already cited examples from the US—there is a difference between these authoritarian or neo-authoritarian countries and the still liberal democracies.
So, for example, if we look at Italy, where Giorgia Meloni is leading the government and comes from a fascist movement which she claims to have left completely, we see an example of soft fascism. She balances between the EU—she is still also a friend of Trump—but she wants the EU funds to continue, so she negotiates in a nice way with von der Leyen and with the European People’s Party. She is for Ukraine and against Russia, and so forth. So there are many interesting positions. But in the actual domestic policies in Italy, her party attacks journalists. There are attacks on press freedom, freedom of opinion, freedom of assembly, and so forth.
However, civil society in Italy is very strong, so this is also being resisted. And this marks a difference—at least in some ways—from Hungary, where Orbán has really implemented an authoritarian state. But there too, civil society and the opposition are now growing. So it’s not clear what will happen in the elections next year, because there is a conservative opposition party led by Magyar, which has been leading the polls for several months.
And if we look at Austria and Germany again, this kind of explicit, violent speech would not be possible—or at least, when it occurs, it is scandalized. Certain politicians might say such things, but they are often suspended from their parties, especially if they make statements that invoke the fascist past. There are strict laws against that, and those laws are enforced. You cannot use these symbols or rhetoric freely.
Whereas—and this marks a major difference from the US—Trump openly violates such laws, human rights norms, and taboos, and yet there is comparatively little opposition—not the kind we see here. So I think the difference lies in EU legislation and national contexts, where violence and the breaking of taboos are still scandalized, prohibited, and prosecuted—unlike in countries where the government can break these taboos and act unlawfully, and it seems everything goes.
In a powerful interview with ECPS, genocide scholar Omer Bartov argues that Israel’s military campaign in Gaza amounts to a “deliberate strategy of slow-moving genocide.” Drawing on the legal framework of the UN Genocide Convention and field reports from Israeli human rights groups, Professor Bartov contends that the Israeli government is intentionally making Gaza uninhabitable through starvation, displacement, and destruction of civilian infrastructure. He warns of a broader system of international complicity—what he calls a “diplomatic Iron Dome”—shielding Israel from accountability. As he dissects settler-colonial logic, media self-censorship, and the erasure of Palestinian voices, Professor Bartov issues a clear call: it is time for the world to confront both the scale of the violence and its own enabling silence.
In a searing and uncompromising interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Omer Bartov—Dean’s Professor of Holocaust and Genocide Studies at Brown University—offers a stark diagnosis of the ongoing war in Gaza: a deliberate strategy of “slow-moving genocide.” Drawing on decades of scholarship on genocide, historical memory, and the politics of violence, Professor Bartov asserts that Israel’s military campaign is not merely excessive or misguided but rather exhibits clear patterns of intent to destroy Palestinian society in Gaza through starvation, forced displacement, and the systematic destruction of essential infrastructure. “Making life impossible,” he warns, “has become a central strategy—not an accidental consequence—of Israeli policy.”
Professor Bartov’s assessment, rooted in both empirical observation and the legal definitions enshrined in the UN Genocide Convention, challenges conventional narratives that frame the Gaza campaign solely as a response to Hamas’s October 7 attacks. While condemning massacre as a war crime and crime against humanity, Professor Bartov insists that it must be placed within a broader context of occupation, siege, and settler-colonial ideology that predates the current conflict. By May 2024, he argues, the Israeli Defense Forces had clearly shifted from their stated war aims to a policy of intentional devastation aimed at rendering Gaza uninhabitable.
What makes this analysis all the more urgent, Professor Bartov notes, is not only the scale of the destruction, but the active complicity of powerful international actors. He draws particular attention to what he calls the “diplomatic Iron Dome”—a term he uses to describe the protective shield provided by the United States and its European allies, who have continued to supply arms and political cover to Israel despite growing evidence of atrocity crimes. “This is extraordinary,” he says, “because the very countries that present themselves as guardians of international law are those facilitating what may well amount to genocide.”
Professor Bartov does not exempt the Israeli media from this dynamic of obfuscation. He highlights the role of pervasive self-censorship in shaping Israeli public opinion, describing a near-total internalization of the government’s narrative that casts all Gazans as complicit in terrorism. And yet, he also sees hope in first-person Palestinian accounts—testimonies that survive, sometimes only fleetingly, before their authors are killed. These narratives, he suggests, may ultimately reshape our collective understanding of the Gaza war and expose the moral cost of international silence.
In this wide-ranging interview, Professor Bartov unflinchingly dissects the ideological, political, and historical forces behind Israel’s war in Gaza—and calls on the world to reckon with its own responsibility.
Here is the transcript of our interview with Professor Omer Bartov, edited lightly for readability.
The Intent to Destroy Gaza Is No Longer Hidden—It’s Being Systematically Implemented
Destruction in Shejayia, Gaza City, Gaza Strip. Photo: Dreamstime.
Professor Omar Bartov, thank you very much for joining our interview series. Let me start right away with the first question: Given your extensive work on the complexities of defining genocide and the centrality of intent, how should we evaluate the Israeli military campaign and mass killings in Gaza through the lens of genocide studies—particularly when patterns of indiscriminate force, dehumanizing rhetoric, and systematic targeting of civilians are framed by the Netanyahu government as necessary and legitimate acts of self-defense?
Professor Omer Bartov: Thank you for that question. First of all, the most important thing to understand when you try to determine whether genocide is happening is that you need to show that there’s an intent—an intent to destroy a particular group, in whole or in part, as such—and that that intent is being implemented.
Now, all regimes or organizations that commit genocide typically employ alternative rhetoric. They claim it is a matter of security, that they have no other choice, that war is inherently brutal, and that terrible actions are sometimes necessary in such contexts. Therefore, it is essential to cut through this rhetoric to determine whether there is a demonstrable intent to destroy a group, and whether that intent is being actively implemented on the ground.
I concluded that that intent was both expressed and then implemented in May of 2024. The reason was that already in October, immediately after the Hamas attack of October 7th, statements were made by Israeli politicians and generals that appeared to have genocidal content—statements that spoke about flattening Gaza, cutting off water, food, and energy; that nobody was uninvolved; and describing people there as human animals. But the government also then declared that its war goals were to destroy Hamas and to release the hostages, and that seemed to be a more limited kind of objective.
By May, it became evident to me that the IDF was no longer pursuing its stated war goals, but rather carrying out precisely what had been declared in the immediate aftermath of October 7th—namely, a systematic and deliberate destruction of Gaza, aimed at rendering it uninhabitable for its population. This became particularly clear when the IDF moved into Rafah, ordering the evacuation of a million people—most of whom had already been displaced at least once or multiple times—and relocated them to the Mawasi area along the coast, which lacked any form of humanitarian infrastructure. Following this forced displacement, the IDF proceeded to destroy Rafah.
That seemed to indicate that the pattern of operations—which is one way to assess whether genocide is occurring—was aimed not only at making Gaza uninhabitable through its physical destruction, but also at systematically eliminating all essential infrastructure. As we now know from a recent report by Physicians for Human Rights in Israel, this included the deliberate destruction of health services, universities, schools, and mosques—effectively targeting everything necessary for a population to care for its health, receive an education, and ultimately reconstitute itself as a community, once the violence ends—if it ever does.
That’s a conclusion I reached as early as May 2024. I wrote about it that August, but since then, of course, we’ve seen much more evidence supporting it, along with numerous additional expressions of intent to carry out ethnic cleansing in Gaza. This is a form of ethnic cleansing that, notably, cannot be fully accomplished—because there is no place for the population to flee. Consequently, we are increasingly witnessing not only the killing of large numbers of people and the creation of conditions that make life unsustainable, but also—as outlined in one of the subsections of the Genocide Convention—the severe diminishment of the ability to give birth or deliver healthy children. This is due, among other factors, to starvation, food shortages, and the collapse of medical services. One striking figure: there has been a 300% increase in miscarriages among women in Gaza since October 7th.
Israel’s Most Far-Right Government Is Mainstreaming Extremism
Billboard reading “The Looting Government,” part of a protest campaign against the conservative coalition’s policies in Ra’anana, Israel, May 2023. Photo: Rene Van Den Berg
In your 2023Guardianop-ed, you describe the Israeli far right as increasingly theocratic and exclusionary. How does this ideological shift, when coupled with populist rhetoric, justify or normalize indiscriminate violence?
Professor Omer Bartov: I would say that the current Israeli government is the most far-right government the country has ever had. It includes not only Netanyahu—who himself has become much more extreme, while remaining a savvy and cynical politician—but also members of parties that, until the coalition was formed in late 2022, had been anathema to Israeli politics and considered marginal. This includes the party led by Bezalel Smotrich, a settler who promotes an ideology rooted in Jewish supremacy, and Itamar Ben-Gvir, who represents another strain ideologically connected to Rabbi Meir Kahane—a figure often described as a Jewish Nazi. Kahane was banned from running for the Knesset by the Supreme Court, and Ben-Gvir is widely regarded as his ideological descendant.
These two people are now the most powerful ministers in Netanyahu’s government. However, I would add that alongside these figures—who are religious fanatics, anti-democratic, and openly racist—there are also other members of the government who are secular. While they do not belong to the religious camp, they are nonetheless extremely radical in their views. The current Minister of Defense, Israel Katz, for instance, has openly proposed the creation of what he calls a “humanitarian city” over the ruins of Rafah—which, in fact, would function as a vast concentration camp. Into this space, approximately 600,000 Palestinians—those who were displaced last year and sent to the Mawasi area—would be crammed, and they would only be allowed to leave if they exited the Gaza Strip altogether. Figures like Katz, and Levin, the current Minister of Justice, are extremely radical both in terms of their ambitions to transform Israel’s political system and in their approach to the treatment of Palestinians. Yet, they are not part of the religious-messianic faction.
Genocide Is Framed as Justified Retaliation in Israeli Public Discourse
In your article “Israel’s War in Gaza and the Question of Genocide” (2025), you argue that Israeli policies in Gaza are shaped by settler-colonial logic and a dehumanizing view of Palestinians, often perceived by many Israelis as a collective threat. In the light of Hamas’s October 7 massacre, how should we interpret the moral and legal boundaries of state response—especially when that attack is used to legitimize large-scale military campaigns that may constitute genocide?
Professor Omer Bartov: There are two levels here that you need to think about. One is what most people who are trying to defend Israel would like to forget—that the Hamas attack of October 7th, however heinous it was—and to my mind, it was a massacre, a war crime, and a crime against humanity—came within a broader context, which we should not ignore. That context includes, first of all, the siege of Gaza, which has gone on for 16 years by Israel since Hamas took over, and more generally, the occupation of Palestinians since 1967. So, for most of the existence of the State of Israel— I was 12 when Israel won the 1967 War and began the occupation. That’s the occupation.
By the way, most of the Palestinians who were living then in the Gaza Strip and the West Bank were people or descendants of people who had been expelled from Israel in 1948. So, they had already become refugees. Now I’m 71. It’s most of my lifetime that Israel has occupied those people. When you occupy large numbers of people—and there are equal numbers of Jews and Palestinians between the river and the sea—this has a dehumanizing effect on both sides. Obviously, the occupier dehumanizes those they occupy, because that’s the only way they can justify it to themselves. And they, too, are dehumanized by that process. So that’s the broader context that helps explain, in part, why the Israeli public is so indifferent to what is happening in Gaza.
But the second, of course, is the attack itself. The Hamas attack created a sense of trauma, confusion, and insecurity within the Israeli public that seemed to justify any kind of response to such an extent. Now there is more discussion of that—both around the world and even in parts of Israel—to the extent that people were willing to entertain the idea of genocide in response to a massacre—which, of course, is not only illegal under international law but is plainly unethical. So, the situation we find ourselves in now is that, for large parts of the Israeli public over all those months, it appeared that, because of the attack of October 7th, the only guilty party in starving the population, destroying Gaza altogether, and killing large numbers of people was Hamas. And that’s a typical dynamic in these kinds of situations. Usually, organizations carrying out genocide—and the public that supports them—see their victims as the main perpetrators. That’s a very common aspect of genocide. And that is what we’re seeing now in Israel.
A Deliberate Strategy to Render Gaza Uninhabitable Is Unfolding Before Our Eyes
Ramallah, Palestine, surrounded by the controversial Israeli wall that separates the State of Israel from West Bank. Photo: Giovanni De Caro.
Two prominent Israeli human rights organizations, B’Tselem and Physicians for Human Rights, recently reported that Israel is committing genocide in Gaza by targeting civilians based solely on their Palestinian identity—causing severe, and in some cases irreparable, harm to Gazan society. As a genocide scholar, could you evaluate how such assessments reinforce or complicate international legal debates surrounding intent, proportionality, and the criteria for defining state violence as genocide?
Professor Omer Bartov: First of all, what is important to point out is that both the report—which I was reading drafts of over the last few weeks—and Physicians for Human Rights in Israel, these are Israeli NGOs. And it’s the first time that Israeli NGOs, made up of Israeli physicians, scholars, legal scholars, have said openly, with a huge amount of evidence, that what they’re seeing is genocide. They make slightly different arguments, but it comes down to the same thing. That as such is very important, because this is coming from within Israeli society itself.
The debate over whether this constitutes genocide has gone on for a long time. As I wrote in The New York Times, I believe there is a growing consensus among both genocide scholars and legal experts that this is, in fact, genocide. It’s true that genocide can be difficult to identify, and it’s also true that if the debate focuses solely on whether this is genocide, there is a risk of overlooking the fact that—even if the classification remains uncertain—clear war crimes and crimes against humanity are being committed on a daily basis. Thus, the ongoing debate may actually divert attention from the criminality of the war itself, as we remain preoccupied with the question: “Is it genocide or not?”
But by now, I think intentionality is clearly there. In fact, one curious aspect of this event is that intentions were declared very early on, and that’s not always the case. The question was whether these declared intentions were being implemented. And as I said, that to me became clear well over a year ago, right in May last year.
And by now, I think it’s clear that what the IDF tried to do between October and January was to ethnically cleanse Northern Gaza and the area north of the Netzarim Corridor. Since breaking the ceasefire in March, its focus has shifted to starving the population—not merely as an unintended consequence, but as a deliberate tactic to force people to move south. That was the objective: first, to withhold food from the North so that people would leave; and second, once distribution points were finally established—four in total—three were located in the South, clearly intended to draw people there and concentrate them in preparation for the next phase, which would be to push them out altogether.
So, I think these reports contribute significantly to the discussion. I would say that the report by Physicians for Human Rights is especially valuable, in addition to the other report, because it clearly demonstrates—for the first time—that there was a deliberate destruction of the entire healthcare system in Gaza. This, even more than the ongoing famine, will have long-term repercussions. It’ll be very hard to rebuild it, if ever, and the consequences for the life and health of the population will be very long term.
And so, it speaks about a sort of slow-moving genocide, among other things, explaining why, as they understand it, the Israeli government refrained from killing larger numbers of people that might have brought more public attention and international pressure on Israel, but rather doing it in a slower version that is more difficult to prove, at least while it is happening. So, you can see a tactic here—and a deliberate one—to make life impossible in Gaza for its Palestinian population.
Israel Is Operating Under a Diplomatic Iron Dome While Advancing Ethnic Cleansing
Election billboard showing Netanyahu shaking hands with Trump, with the slogan “Netanyahu. Another League,” in Jerusalem on September 16, 2019. Photo: Dreamstime.
In your 2021 article“Blind Spots of Genocide,”you critique the Western-centric orientation of genocide studies and call for the inclusion of settler-colonial violence and victim perspectives. How should these frameworks be revised to more accurately reflect the dynamics of Israeli state violence in Gaza? Moreover, how does the international community’s muted response to this violence- especially in contrast to its swift condemnation of Hamas’s October 7 massacre- highlight enduring asymmetries in how global discourse defines and recognizes victimhood and perpetration?
Professor Omer Bartov: There’s a lot in your question, so I’ll focus on at least part of it—perhaps the most crucial part right now, or maybe two aspects. The first is that it is absolutely extraordinary that, since October 7th, Israel has operated with complete impunity in its actions in Gaza—and, of course, also in the West Bank, which we can discuss in a moment. This is not merely impunity in the sense that no one intervenes to stop it, but active facilitation through massive military assistance. The Israeli IDF could not have carried out its operations without a constant supply of arms and munitions from the United States, as well as from European allies—most notably Germany, which is the second-largest supplier of arms to Israel—and substantial diplomatic cover.
You know that Israel is living under a diplomatic Iron Dome—protected by the United States, which, as a permanent member of the UN Security Council, vetoes any attempt to sanction Israel for its actions. This is extraordinary, because the countries facilitating Israel’s actions in Gaza are the very ones most strongly identified as defenders of international law and human rights—that is how they describe themselves. And Israel is not Syria, Russia, China, or Somalia; it is a country described by itself and its allies as the only democracy in the Middle East, as a protector of human rights. It is, therefore, an exceptional case that receives exceptional support from the very actors who champion the rules and norms of the international legal order—rules that Israel is now in severe breach of. That’s an extraordinary situation. There are reasons for this, and they are somewhat complex, but that is the reality.
The second issue, of course, is: why is Israel doing what it is doing? Israel is doing this because, I would say, until October 7th, Netanyahu had managed to persuade most of the Israeli public—and, in fact, much of the international community—that Israel could, so to speak, manage the occupation. That there was no need for any territorial compromise or further negotiations, because the occupation was containable. One way he did this was by supporting Hamas. We tend to forget that Hamas was seen by the Israeli right—by figures like Smotrich, and very much by Netanyahu himself—as an asset. Israel persuaded Qatar to provide millions of dollars to Hamas, which were literally handed over in large cash bags by Israelis to Hamas. A fair amount of that money, in fact, was used to build Hamas’s tunnel infrastructure.
The rationale was: it’s advantageous to have Hamas, because Hamas is widely viewed as a terrorist and fundamentalist organization, one that seeks to replace Israel with an Islamic state. Therefore, it is not considered a viable partner for negotiations. In contrast, the Palestinian Authority (PA) is recognized internationally—which is not favorable for Israel—but it is also perceived as weak and corrupt, and thus not a significant threat. Moreover, the PA collaborates with Israel in the West Bank, which further diminishes any urgency for diplomatic engagement from Israel’s perspective.
That all blew up on October 7th, when Hamas launched its attack. Initially, the Israeli government and military were quite shocked by the events, and it took them a few days to recover. Then, figures like Netanyahu, Smotrich, and Ben-Gvir suddenly realized—at least in their minds—that this was an opportunity rather than merely a fiasco. They saw it as a chance to resolve the issue by other means. If the occupation could no longer be effectively managed, then the alternative, in their view, was to ethnically cleanse the population—using the global consensus that Israel had been attacked and that hundreds of Israeli civilians had been massacred as a justification to now “solve” the problem.
But for Netanyahu, of course, there is a dilemma. And the dilemma is this: if, as he claims, he needs absolute victory—total victory—what does that actually mean? If Hamas is eliminated from Gaza, who takes over Gaza? Who would govern it? The IDF does not want to assume that role—for good reason. It would be too costly, both in lives and in resources; it would be unsustainable. So, who would govern? The natural choice would be the Palestinian Authority—perhaps a reconfigured version of it—but ultimately, it would need to be ruled by Palestinians. And that would defeat the entire purpose of this government, which is to maintain the separation between Gaza and the West Bank, complete the operation in Gaza, and then accelerate the creeping ethnic cleansing of the West Bank. This is the situation we find ourselves in now. The dynamic this government is pursuing is the completion of ethnic cleansing and, to the extent possible, the annexation of territories in both Gaza and the West Bank.
Holocaust Memory Has Been Turned Into a License for Extreme Violence
In your New York Times and Guardian commentaries, you warn against the instrumentalization of Holocaust memory as a means of shielding the Netanyahu regime from accountability. How has the Israeli far right- particularly figures like Netanyahu and Ben-Gvir- invoked Holocaust analogies to deflect allegations of war crimes and genocide in Gaza?
Professor Omer Bartov: I want to point out that it’s not only the far right in Israel that uses these analogies. The phenomenon is much broader. In fact, there is almost a consensus in Israeli society—ranging from the left to the far right. This has been a long process. I would argue that the use of the Holocaust as both a unifying memory for Israeli society and a license to exercise extreme violence against anyone perceived to be resisting Israeli rule and occupation, accelerated particularly in the late 1970s and early 1980s. You may recall that Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin—the first right-wing prime minister of Israel and a disciple of Ze’ev Jabotinsky—remarked in 1982, following the Israeli invasion of Lebanon, that Arafat, who was then in Beirut, was hunkering down in his bunker like Hitler in Berlin during World War II. These kinds of associations between Palestinians, the PLO, Hamas—and Nazis—have become embedded in the fabric of Israeli politics.
If you listen to mainstream Israeli media—which never shows images of the horrors in Gaza—they consistently refer to Hamas as Nazis. This triggers, within the Israeli public, a perception that the threat is existential, that Auschwitz is just around the corner. And if Auschwitz is around the corner, then Israel must do everything it can to prevent it and to destroy its enemies entirely. To hell with what the international community says, to hell with international law—we are fighting for our very existence. That’s the kind of rhetorical mechanism that has been perfected.
To this, Netanyahu has added a crucial element: the weaponization of anti-Semitism. Any protest against Israel—regardless of whether it comes from Jewish students on American campuses demonstrating against the atrocities in Gaza—is immediately labeled as anti-Semitism. He has succeeded in doing this to such an extent that, both in Europe—particularly in Germany—and in the United States, there has been a clampdown on these protests in the name of combating anti-Semitism.
This Isn’t Censorship—It’s Self-Mobilization
Israeli newspapers and magazines on display in the streets of Tel Aviv, December 12, 2018. Photo: Jose Hernandez.
In“Blind Spots of Genocide”(2021), you stress the need to center victims’ perspectives. In Gaza, how do Israeli media censorship and the framing of all Gazans as “Hamas” obscure or erase civilian experiences?
Professor Omer Bartov: It does, of course. But again, I want to say—when you say censorship, you’re being kind. Because on mainstream outlets, such as the public TV channel Kan 11, there is no formal censorship. There is military censorship—they can’t reveal certain information—but they have every right to report on what’s happening to Palestinians in Gaza. They choose not to, out of self-censorship. And self-censorship is a much more effective mechanism, one that has existed in the Israeli media for a long time.
My father was a journalist, and I remember that kind of self-censorship since I was a child under the Labor governments. This was not invented today. But now, at this point, it’s extraordinary—the extent of both self-censorship and the mobilization of the entire spectrum of the Israeli media—with two very small but important exceptions: Haaretz newspaper, which is reporting very bravely (in fact, some of the best reporting on the war in Gaza is coming from Haaretz itself), and Local Call or +972, which is an even smaller group of intrepid reporters.
But by and large, this is not censorship; this is self-censorship and self-mobilization. And that’s something much more difficult to fight against. In part, it has to do—as so much does in the world today—with ratings. They don’t want to alienate their own viewers by saying things the audience doesn’t want to hear. But in part, it’s that they themselves have internalized the narrative. And while they may not be particularly supportive of Netanyahu, and certainly not of the far-right elements in his government, they generally view this as a just war, and they tend to regard the killing in Gaza as, at best, lamentable collateral damage. And that’s a far worse situation than the kind of censorship that could be removed simply by changing the government.
First-Person Testimonies Will Redefine How the World Remembers Gaza
And lastly Professor Bartov, in“Between Integrated and First-Person History”(2021), you advocate for incorporating personal narratives. How might first-person Palestinian accounts reshape dominant narratives about the Gaza war and its moral consequences?
Professor Omer Bartov: So, about the Gaza war itself—I think, look, it’s deeply tragic, because so many of the reports that have come out of Gaza are not only heartbreaking; often, they are accounts by people who were themselves killed shortly afterward. But I do think these reports are increasingly having an effect around the world. Clearly, there has been a widespread failure—perhaps not an intentional one, but nonetheless real—on the part of the international media, which, being denied access to Gaza, has largely accepted this absence of reporting. It has not pressed hard enough to provide objective coverage of events inside Gaza and has, in general, paid insufficient attention to what is happening.
This has changed somewhat now because of the widespread starvation. And, as has happened in many past genocides and other forms of war crimes, there often comes a moment when certain images begin to shift public perception and draw global attention. This occurred during the war in the former Yugoslavia, for example, with the photographs of Bosniaks behind barbed wire. It also happened during the Vietnam War with the iconic image of the girl burned by napalm. Similarly, the recent images of starving children have had a profound effect—a different kind of narrative, in a way. At the very least, you see the people themselves. You see what is happening to obviously innocent children. You simply can’t present that as anything other than what it is.
I think in the future—I’ve read several such texts by people who were there and who, fortunately, managed to get out and write accounts. As a strong believer in first-person narratives—which convey what you will never hear or understand if you rely solely on top-down documentation—I believe there will be more of these stories. And I think that, eventually, our understanding of what is going on—and, once it’s over, what had gone on—will deepen significantly, and the horror will be revealed to have been even greater than we could have imagined.
As massacre and starvation content floods social media in the wake of Hamas’s October 7 attack, a new generation of users—especially teenagers—grapples with its psychological toll. In this Voice of Youth commentary, 19-year-old aspiring journalist Andrea Castelnuovo explores how platforms like Instagram, X, and TikTok have become both vital sources of information and sources of distress. Drawing on recent studies from Israel and Jordan, Castelnuovo highlights the anxiety, trauma, and emotional numbness that graphic imagery can induce in young viewers. He also shares his own experience of digital overwhelm and the importance of finding alternative, less triggering ways to stay informed. His article raises a crucial question for journalists: Can we raise awareness without harming those who bear witness?
By Andrea Castelnuovo*
Since Hamas’s attack on Israel on October 7, 2023, people have turned to platforms like Instagram, X, and TikTok to stay informed. However, many are struggling with the emotional toll of witnessing violent content.
The Israel-Palestine conflict is one of the most discussed topics on social media – now the main source of information for much of the Western population. Studies show that people prefer following independent journalists on platforms like Instagram and TikTok over reading mainstream outlets like the BBC, Fox, and Sky News – often criticized for a perceived pro-Israel bias. Content on social media is usually more direct as journalists share raw pictures and videos that make the news easier to grasp. However, many viewers – teenagers in particular – are triggered by this approach.
In the article “It matters what you see: Graphic media images of war and terror may amplify distress” by the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America (PNAS), two researchers examined how graphic content can pressure governments to act – but also emphasized how often its emotional impact on viewers is overlooked.
Cyber psychology researchers Liat Franco and Meyran Boniel-Nissim studied the psychological, physical, and mental toll – along with coping strategies – among teenagers in northern Israel exposed to war content on social media. Their symptoms included anxiety, sleep disturbances, and shifts in political views. Based on interviews with thirty-one adolescents aged 13 to 15 in northern Israel, the study found that many teens were becoming emotionally numb – a defense mechanism to shield themselves from ongoing trauma.
A similar pattern emerged in research led by Dua’a Al-Maghaireh and colleagues, who studied acute stress symptoms among Jordanian teenagers. Nearly half of Jordan’s population has Palestinian roots, which intensifies the emotional impact of the content they view. All 180 students interviewed said they watched Gaza-related news on social media, with 61% consuming it for more than three hours a day. All of them reported viewing content on YouTube – a platform where footage is especially graphic and unfiltered. As a result, 70% described themselves as highly stressed, and only 11% reported low levels of stress. Common feelings included sadness, shock, and hopelessness.
One teenage boy recalled his first time seeing images of bombings in Gaza: “I was very shocked by the scenes of killing, blood, and destruction of homes – and the people inside them. I have never seen such scenes before.”
Another said the emotional weight had affected his relationships: “After I watched news footage of the Gaza attack on social media and described it to my family and friends, my friends became very sad, and there was no laughter like before. Also, my house became gloomy.”
As a 19-year-old aspiring journalist, I care deeply about staying informed – but also about protecting my mental health. Recently, I deleted Instagram, as its content made me anxious and triggered my dissociation. Being exposed to graphic imagery every day left me feeling hopeless and powerless – too small to make a difference. Since I started listening to podcasts and reading long-form articles, I have managed to stay informed without feeling overwhelmed. This approach may not work for everyone, but for people like me – who want to stay aware without burning out – it is a valuable starting point.
The main question remains: Is there a way journalists and content creators can sensitize their audience without harming them?
(*) Andrea Castelnuovo is a nineteen-year-old aspiring journalist from Italy. He studied languages and literature in high school, with a focus on English, German, and Chinese. In 2024, he attended NHSMUN in New York City, where he gained insight into international law and the importance of journalism. Email: castelnuovo.andrea2006@gmail.com
Donald Trump once portrayed himself as the guardian of Western Civilization. Yet his second administration has aggressively undermined the very unity it claimed to defend. The recent US-EU trade deal—imposing steep tariffs on European exports while demanding vast investments in American industries—signals a shift from partnership to dominance. This economic blow coincides with a deeper ideological rupture: Trump no longer sees Europe, especially the EU, as a cultural ally but as a bureaucratic adversary. Aligning instead with nationalist and religiously conservative leaders, Trump’s vision of the West excludes liberal, secular Europe in favor of sovereigntist regimes. Civilizational language remains—but it now serves to justify a reordered West where power, not pluralism, defines belonging.
The Trump administration’s recent trade deal is the culmination of its economic confrontation with the European Union (EU). However EU leaders choose to frame it, the agreement is hardly a positive development for Europe. It imposes a 15% tariff on most EU exports to the US, while granting zero tariffs on a range of US goods, including aircraft parts, chemicals, and generic drugs. In return, the EU committed to invest approximately $600 billion in the US, along with $750 billion in purchases of American energy products over a three-year period—a concession best described as economic capitulation.
Trump’s aggressive deal-making, which appears deliberately designed to undermine Europe’s industrial base, and his administration’s strong criticisms of the lack of political freedom in several European nations, especially Germany, sit uneasily alongside his earlier rhetoric on defending Western Civilization. For example, in his 2017 speech in Warsaw, Trump surprised many commentators by casting himself not as a narrow “America First” populist-nationalist, but as a defender of the West. Speaking in lofty tones, he warned his Polish audience that Western Civilization was in grave danger, facing threats both within and beyond its borders: “Our own fight for the West does not begin on the battlefield,” he declared. “It begins with our minds, our wills, and our souls.”
Drawing on Poland’s resistance to Nazism and Communism, Trump framed the US and Poland as cultural allies within a civilizational mission. To preserve that mission, he argued, both nations must keep alive the “bonds of history, culture, and memory.”
“Just as Poland could not be broken,” he said, “I declare today for the world to hear that the West will never, ever be broken. Our values will prevail. Our people will thrive. And our civilization will triumph.”
Among the enemies of the West identified by Trump were “radical Islamic” actors and, more vaguely, immigrants “who reject our values and who use hatred to justify violence against the innocent.” Yet he insisted these forces would fail—because of the West’s unity, strength, and cultural brilliance:
“We write symphonies. We pursue innovation. We celebrate our ancient heroes, embrace our timeless traditions… We cherish inspiring works of art that honor God. We treasure the rule of law and protect the right to free speech… We debate everything. We challenge everything. We seek to know everything so that we can better know ourselves.”
This was civilizational language in a distilled form, and which exalted a shared Western historical mission, moral legacy, and cultural inheritance. In using this language, Trump positioned himself as the defender of a great civilization under siege, one that would endure if it remained unified, and perhaps with Trump himself at its leader.
This was not the only civilizational note struck, so to speak, by the Trump administration. As Jeffrey Haynes noted, the administration explicitly elevated “Judeo-Christian values” in foreign policy, replacing the “more flexible Christocentric approach” of previous US governments. This shift was expressed in the promotion of religious freedom for Christians, the withdrawal of funding from abortion-linked aid programs, and consistent alignment with conservative religious causes internationally. Israel, in this framing, was incorporated into the West not through geography, but because it was understood as an outpost of Judeo-Christian civilization in the Middle East.
However, the second Trump Administration has hardly made civilizational unity with Europe a priority. It has, in fact, adopted an almost implacably anti-European tone. Gone is the soaring rhetoric praising European culture—replaced by direct critique. In Trump’s view, the Europeans do not spend enough on defense, choose not to protect themselves from Russian aggression, and instead free-ride on American military and economic might. Vice President J.D. Vance has been especially critical of Europe, arguing that the region is increasingly undemocratic, and singling out Germany for its attempts to ban the right-wing populist Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) party. Since returning to power, Trump has disparaged NATO, launched economic attacks on the European Union, and pursued trade policies that harm core European industries. He sought rapprochement with Vladimir Putin, dismaying US allies, although these efforts were not reciprocated, forcing him to backtrack and grudgingly sponsor Ukraine’s self-defense.
Under the second Trump Administration, then, Europe—especially the EU—is seen not as a partner, but rather as an ideological and economic adversary. This may be surprising, given Trump’s earlier stated enthusiasm for civilizational unity. Yet signs of this antagonism were already present in the Warsaw speech, where Trump identified not just radical Islam but also the “steady creep of government bureaucracy” as a threat to the West. This was unmistakably code for Brussels and the wider liberal technocratic architecture of the EU. In Trump’s conception, the authentic West is not embodied by the EU or the secular, liberal nations of Western Europe, but by Hungary and Poland: nations that defend sovereignty, tradition, and Christian identity.
This helps explain Trump’s selective alliances.
Although Trump spoke of Western unity in Warsaw, his closest allies while in office have not been Europe’s liberal democracies, but rather a cohort of populist and nationalist leaders who share his disdain for globalism, technocracy, and liberal norms. In Europe, this included Viktor Orbán’s Fidesz party in Hungary and the Law and Justice (PiS) government in Poland, who both claimed to be defending Christian civilization against Muslim migrants and Brussels bureaucrats. But the pattern extended globally. Trump cultivated ties with Narendra Modi, whose Hindu nationalist project reimagines Indian identity in explicitly civilizational terms. He praised Jair Bolsonaro, who framed himself as a religious crusader against globalism and cultural Marxism. He supported Benjamin Netanyahu’s vision of Israel as a Jewish ethnostate and a bulwark protecting Western Civilization from radical Islam. What unites these figures is not cultural proximity or geopolitical strategy, but a shared political discourse that is nationalist, anti-liberal, often religiously framed, and contemptuous of international institutions.
Trump’s vision for international politics might be predicated on the protection of Western civilization, but in practice it constructs a loose front of ideologically aligned regimes that reject liberal universalism and prioritize ethnic or religious identity, sovereignty, and security. Viewed in this light, the Warsaw speech takes on a different meaning. Its invocation of “our civilization” may have sounded like a call to Western unity, but in hindsight it was a call to reorder that unity to displace Brussels with Budapest, liberalism with traditional values, and multilateralism with national sovereignty.
But not all of this is purely tactical. A clearer ideological logic emerges from the growing influence of post-liberal thinkers within the administration.
Around Trump, a group of advisers and public intellectuals, including Patrick Deneen, Rod Dreher (who now lives in Hungary), Adrian Vermeule, and most importantly Vice President Vance, possess a coherent civilizational vision of ‘the West.’ Their argument is not that Western civilization should be abandoned, but rather rescued from liberalism, which they see as having hollowed out Christianity, dismantled moral authority, and opened the gates to unchecked migration, especially from Muslim-majority countries. For these post-liberals, Europe’s embrace of secularism, technocracy, and progressive norms represents a betrayal of the West’s true civilizational inheritance. As a result, they do not see Western Europe and the EU as authentically ‘Western,’ but rather agree with Viktor Orban, who once told an American audience that “the Democratic Party and President Obama were ‘globalists’” who oppose Christian values, and who along with “Brussels” represent the enemies of Western civilization.
This vision marks a decisive break from the postwar consensus that linked Western civilization with liberal democracy, secularism, pluralism, and transatlantic solidarity. Trump’s EU trade deal, with its punitive tariffs and lopsided concessions, demonstrates the depth of this rupture. It is less an economic agreement than a demonstration of American power and signals that Washington now sees Brussels as an economic and ideological rival, not a member of the same civilization.
For Europeans, the implications are stark. Trump’s idea of “the West” is very different to the EU leaders’ idea of the West. Furthermore, Trump’s Warsaw rhetoric of Western unity is now largely absent, replaced with a transactional, often hostile, posture toward the EU and its liberal-democratic and technocratic core values.
Europeans, Aris Roussinos has observed, now face an unavoidable choice between embracing a specific set of ‘European’ values, and attempting to unify as a cultural and economic bloc in order to protect themselves from American power, or resign themselves to a subordinate role in a West utterly dominated by the United States. Emmanuel Macron has given this dilemma explicit political form, calling for Europe to become a civilizational power in its own right. Whether Europe can realize this ambition remains uncertain. But the trade deal imposed by Trump leaves little doubt: whatever the language of Warsaw once promised, there will be no simple civilizational unity between Europe and the United States.
The rise of populism has exposed the fragility of representative democracy, particularly in an era of rapid technological change. The digital age has blurred the lines between the personal and the political, as social media platforms empower populist leaders to claim direct representation of the people. As the public’s trust in institutionalized forms of democracy wanes, this has led to a recalibration of what representation should entail. Beyond mere vote casting, representation is increasingly about ensuring a broader, more inclusive range of voices within political discourse. However, as Peter Mair (2013) and others have noted, this expansion often leads to fragmentation rather than cohesion, making the task of political representation more complex and urgently in need of reinvention in the face of emerging global challenges.
Social media have become the contemporary embodiment of democracy’s broader promise: not only that every citizen holds one vote, but that each voice carries equal value. When this illusion of equal voice meets the populist perfume of a leader who claims to be “the voice of the people,” representative democracy—an invention of over two centuries ago—starts to feel stale.
James Madison, one of the Founding Fathers of the United States, argued that the public voice, articulated by representatives, would more likely align with the public good than if expressed directly by the people themselves (Madison, 1788). This idea, by its very nature, raises questions about one of liberal democracy’s foundational pillars: representation.
Since the rise of representative institutions—cortes, parliaments, and a wide array of mediating bodies—citizens have accepted that, in a complex and plural world, they cannot participate directly in the life of the polis. Hence, professional associations, unions, and political representatives have become the legitimate “voice” of the people. This pathway led to the modern construct of representative democracy.
However, representative democracy has long struggled between two competing approaches: authorization and accountability. As Hannah Pitkin (1967) noted in her seminal work The Concept of Representation, authorization theories ignore the substantive content of representation—who represents, what is represented, and how—while accountability models focus narrowly on control mechanisms, disregarding substantive political action.
With the end of the Cold War and the global expansion of liberal democracy, representation transcended both the consent implicit in the social contract and mere accountability. It evolved into a dynamic social process, marked by innovations such as participatory budgets, grassroots movements, and NGOs (Fung, 2006).
Demands for representation acquired a new momentum under the concept of representativeness. It no longer suffices that votes reflect diverse political tendencies; politics must now mirror the broader social spectrum. This raises the fundamental question of whether representation should be merely “acting on behalf of” or rather “acting as if one were” the represented.
Consequently, representative democracy is no longer the simple translation of votes into preselected politicians. It increasingly encompasses the demand for pluralism that reflects society’s diversity, with growing calls from various sectors for a seat at the table. In this sense, democracy has become more vibrant—thanks in large part to social activism.
Yet while historically marginalized social groups have gained ground and accelerated social integration after decades (and centuries) of exclusion, the so-called “silent majority” awoke in resentment, particularly after the 2008 crisis cast millions into uncertainty, reviving the category of the “have-nots.”
Alienated and angry, many fell prey to populist and demagogic narratives that promised to give them voice amidst a complex world of interdependent economies, international institutions like the IMF and the European Central Bank, distant political elites, and feelings of abandonment in peripheral regions (Mounk, 2018; Crouch, 2004).
Representative democracy—where people vote every four years for MPs they rarely see—started to seem like the enemy. Into this void entered radical right populism, promising direct democracy, dismantling liberal institutional checks and balances, and restoring order by targeting elites, immigrants, minorities, and the progressive media (Müller, 2016).
At the same time, young people are increasingly disenchanted and radicalized. Some polls show a growing preference for authoritarian or even military solutions among younger generations (Norris & Inglehart, 2019). The intergenerational gap in political expectations is widening, driven by feelings of economic stagnation, climate anxiety, and a perception that conventional politics lacks urgency and authenticity.
A crucial dimension of this crisis is the perceived irrelevance of political parties. Once central instruments of representation and social integration, parties are now often seen as closed ecosystems, dominated by professional politicians disconnected from everyday life. As Peter Mair (2013) argued in Ruling the Void, parties have increasingly withdrawn from civil society, becoming instruments of state management rather than democratic mediation. This erosion of intermediary structures has left citizens politically orphaned—searching for identity and belonging outside traditional institutions.
Compounding this, political elites frequently reproduce themselves through dynastic networks and clientelistic logic, further alienating citizens from the institutions that claim to represent them. Bernard Manin (1997) described the shift from party democracy to audience democracy, where visibility, media skills, and personal charisma often trump ideological coherence or programmatic depth.
Another factor intensifying the strain on representative democracy is the digital environment. While social media platforms initially promised to democratize public discourse, they have in fact created fragmented and polarized spheres of communication (Sunstein, 2017). Algorithms amplify outrage, misinformation spreads faster than correction, and filter bubbles isolate users from dissenting views. Zeynep Tufekci (2017) rightly warns that networked protest, though powerful in mobilization, often lacks the institutional leverage to produce durable change.
In this ecosystem, affect often supersedes argument. Political discourse is increasingly shaped by emotional resonance rather than factual coherence. Trust in institutions collapses, not merely because of poor performance, but due to a structural shift in how authority is perceived and contested.
Thus, representative democracy now finds itself under pressure from both sides: historically marginalized groups demanding a more inclusive society, and alienated majorities demanding a return to simplicity, order, and identity. In this dual crisis, democracy is pulled between the imperatives of inclusion and the backlash of exclusion.
Still, the core question remains: does representative democracy still make sense?
Paradoxically, the answer may be yes. But only if it undergoes deep reform. It must break with dynastic politics and party machinery, and become a truer mirror of society’s pluralism. It needs to reconnect with its purpose—not as a relic of Enlightenment rationalism, but as a living framework to mediate conflict, ensure fairness, and guarantee freedom (Rosanvallon, 2008; Mouffe, 2005).
Renewal must also involve institutional innovation. Mechanisms such as deliberative assemblies, civic juries, and participatory budgeting are no longer utopian experiments but necessary adaptations to rebuild trust. Likewise, the integration of minority voices and the opening of spaces for youth political engagement must become structural priorities, not merely rhetorical gestures.
Representative democracy should not be discarded as a decaying ruin, but renewed as an indispensable horizon—a system capable of withstanding both the tyranny of elites and the tyranny of the crowd.
References
Crouch, C. (2004). Post-Democracy. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Fung, A. (2006). “Varieties of participation in complex governance.” Public Administration Review, 66(s1), 66–75. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1540-6210.2006.00667.x
Madison, J. (1788). The Federalist No. 10. In: A. Hamilton, J. Madison, & J. Jay, The Federalist Papers. New York: Independent Journal.
Mair, P. (2013). Ruling the Void: The Hollowing of Western Democracy. London: Verso.
Manin, B. (1997). The Principles of Representative Government. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Mouffe, C. (2005). On the Political. London: Routledge.
Mounk, Y. (2018). The People vs. Democracy: Why Our Freedom Is in Danger and How to Save It. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Müller, J.-W. (2016). What Is Populism? Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.
Norris, P., & Inglehart, R. (2019). Cultural Backlash: Trump, Brexit, and Authoritarian Populism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Pitkin, H. F. (1967). The Concept of Representation. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Rosanvallon, P. (2008). La légitimité démocratique: Impartialité, réflexivité, proximité. Paris: Seuil.
Sunstein, C. R. (2017). #Republic: Divided Democracy in the Age of Social Media. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Tufekci, Z. (2017). Twitter and Tear Gas: The Power and Fragility of Networked Protest. New Haven: Yale University Press.
Please cite as: Varriale, Amedeo. (2025). “Giorgia Meloni’s Brothers of Italy (FdI): Conservative, Populist, or Extreme Right?” ECPS Party Profiles. European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS). July 27, 2025. https://doi.org/10.55271/op0011
This study demonstrates that Fratelli d’Italia (FdI) is best characterized as a conservative party with a strong ideological foundation in cultural and socio-economic conservatism. While the party occasionally uses populist rhetoric—particularly anti-elitist and people-centric language—populism plays only a secondary role. The party’s programs from 2018 and 2022 emphasize traditional values, national identity, and limited but socially conscious state intervention, aligning it more with liberal conservatism than with radical right populism. FdI’s relatively moderate stances on civil rights and its pro-European, Atlanticist foreign policy further distance it from the extreme right. Thus, FdI is most accurately described as a populist-Conservative party, where conservatism is dominant and populism serves more as a rhetorical strategy than a core ideology.
By Amedeo Varriale*
Introduction
This contribution focuses on categorizing the political party Brothers of Italy (FdI) from an entirely ideological standpoint. In essence, the aim of this work is to address the question of whether Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni’s FdI should ultimately be classified as a conservative, populist, or far-right party. To achieve this aim, a theoretical framework based on an ideological approach – where each ideology is considered to be firmly grounded in a core set of values – will be combined with a qualitative methodology comprising discourse and manifesto analysis. This approach will be utilized to empirically determine which of the three ideologies (conservatism, populism, right-wing extremism) is most closely aligned with FdI’s general positions.
Through both forms of analysis, domestic and foreign policy are considered in determining what party family FdI currently belongs to. Hopefully, the approach adopted in this investigation – both flexible and reliable – will shed light on this crucial European political actor and, in time, also inspire future scholars to use a similar framework to evaluate other[1] ideologically ambiguous cases. For instance, other right-wing parties in Europe may reflect modern liberal conservatism or represent something entirely distinct, more radical, or even extreme.
The reason for selecting FdI as a case study lies not only in its brisk rise in political influence both domestically and internationally – due to the popularity of its leader among voters and her pragmatic relationship with key players (e.g. Donald J. Trump, Ursula von der Leyen, Elon Musk) – but also in its complex ideological roots, including its supposedly“post-fascist” legacy and its recent foreign policy realignment. Both aspects provide a unique case for analyzing the boundaries among conservatism, populism, and extreme right ideology in 21st century Europe.
The FdI Case: Background, Literature, and Method
Party Background
Brothers of Italy (Fratelli d’Italia – FdI) is a political party that emerged from a split in Silvio Berlusconi’s “big-tent” People of Freedom (Popolo delle Libertà – PDL) party on December 28, 2012 (Palladino, 2023). The split occurred in response to Berlusconi’s decision not to hold primary elections for the PDL’s leadership before the 2013 general election, as well as his continued endorsement of the technocratic government led by the Europhile economist Mario Monti (Tarchi, 2024: 22-23). Essentially, the goal of FdI’s three principal founders—Guido Crosetto, Ignazio La Russa, and Giorgia Meloni—was to create a new center-right to right-wing political entity with a distinctly nationalist (and thus Euroskeptic) and conservative agenda, in contrast to Berlusconi’s centrist and classical liberal party (Tarchi, 2024: 23–24).
However, for much of its existence, FdI struggled to make a significant impact on the Italian political landscape. In fact, between 2013 and 2022, it seemed that Meloni and her close associates were content with having a limited influence on the national agenda, operating mainly from the sidelines of Parliament. During this period, FdI accepted the role of junior partner in the center-right coalition, securing a modest 1.95% in the 2013 general election and a slightly better 4.3% in 2018 (see Il Sole 24 Ore, 2015; 2018). As a minor player, it frequently aligned with Forward Italy! (FI!) and the League (Lega) on critical matters such as immigration, security, taxation, and the broader economy.
Literature Review
Taking this into account, the situation for FdI is now drastically different. The party decisively won the Italian general election in September 2022, securing 26% of the national vote (see Ansa.it, September 26, 2022). Indeed, not only has the prominent news outlet Politico described Meloni—Prime Minister since October 2022—as “the most powerful person in Europe” in its “Class of 2025” ranking, but her party also remains electorally stable, consistently leading national polls (see www.politico.eu). More crucially, analysts consistently acknowledge that there has been an ideological shift undergone by Meloni – as FdI repositioned itself in the international arena, becoming more moderate, Atlanticist, and “pro-European” on foreign policy – and that she will continue to be a high-profile figure in the near future (Cerasa, 2024; The Economist, January 24, 2024).
Notwithstanding, numerous political commentators, particularly within the media, still draw attention to the darker past of Meloni’s party, stressing her party’s neofascist origins (see Neil, 2024; Riva and Bagnoli, 2024; Rizzitelli, 2024; Saviano, 2022; Stille, 2024). After all, FdI is a direct successor to the post-fascist National Alliance (AN) and an indirect heir to the neofascist Italian Social Movement (MSI). It is for this reason that most of its classe dirigente (“ruling class”) derives from the traditional extreme right and – as some suggest – that the logo of the party still reflects the old MSI’s tricolor burning flame (Tarchi, 2024: 23). This is a symbol that represents the fascist idea of palingenesis, which in the Italian case is meant to pay tribute to the rise of a new political force from Benito Mussolini’s ashes (for a more detailed account, see Jones, 2022).
Considering this, surprisingly, unlike in media circles, “FdI until recently attracted little academic attention” (Bressanelli & de Candia, 2023: 1). Nevertheless, in the rare instances where FdI has received scholarly focus, scholars disagree on the core ideology that shapes the essence of the party’s political discourse and policy decisions. On one hand, there are scholars that insist – notwithstanding its commitment to democracy as well as its pro-USA, pro-Israel, and pro-Ukraine stances – FdI can still be categorized as “far right” or “radical right” (see Broder, 2002; Donà, 2022; Indelicato and Lopes, 2024; Tortola and Griffini, 2024). Moreover, although the most severe designation “extreme right” is rarely ever employed in scholarly literature, the terms above have served as quasi-direct alternatives, carrying an either identical or similar negative connotation, and are interchangeably used to emphasize FdI’s extreme positions. On the other hand, other experts are more cautious with their categorizations and refrain from explicitly highlighting the party’s extremist credentials (e.g. Tarchi, 2024). Alternatively, a minority of specialists, such as the Italian academics Salvatore Vassallo and Rinaldo Vignati (2024) or the essayist Bill Emmott (2024) prefer to stress how Meloni’s party is best aligned with the ideology of conservatism. For instance, the former contend that FdI is a new “national conservative” party, rather than a populist or neofascist one, and the latter – although with some reservations – assents that Meloni has governed as a “bog-standard conservative” (Emmott, 2024; Ronaldo and Vignati, 2024).
Although several analysts quickly label FdI as a “radical right” or “(new) populist radical right” party—including Biancalana (2024), Puleo and Piccolino (2022), Rooduijn et al. (2019), and Zulianello (2020)—this classification often leads to an incomplete reading for two reasons. First, FdI’s predecessor National Alliance (AN) was already being classified as a relatively “moderate” national conservative party by scholars in the early 2000s (see Ignazi, 2005; Tarchi, 2003; 2008). Thus, it is difficult to imagine that Meloni’s party today – which directly draws from its previous political legacy – would opt to radicalize itself, especially in a context where, following Berlusconi’s downfall, moderate right voters no longer have a stable political home, and a leadership vacuum exists within the center-right bloc. In fact, two Italian authors – Leonardo Puleo and Gianluca Piccolino (2022) – even outrightly state “FdI’s position in the bi-dimensional political space (GAL/TAN and Economic L-R) of the Italian party system appears quite similar to that of AN” (Puleo and Piccolino, 2022: 368). Unexpectedly, they still conclude that FdI is part of the populist radical right (PRR) family. Second, it appears that current literature, in attempts to categorize FdI, prioritizes issues that unequivocally align with PRR ideology (e.g. anti-elitism/populism, anti-progressivism, authoritarianism, nativism, Euroskepticism) while overlooking those that put the party at odds with this political family, such as its domestic economic policy and its “neo-conservative” and Atlanticist foreign policy.
In summary, the principal debate among scholars revolves around the ideological nature of FdI. This includes discussions on whether it is a party that conveys a conservative message while effectively adhering to democratic laws (both in form and in practice), or whether it remains influenced by its neofascist heritage and is also now capitalizing on the populist wave, challenging core tenets and institutions of liberal democracy – such as the separation of powers, the rule of law, and minority rights – in a way typical of “radical right” parties, as Cas Mudde (2019) maintains. Considering this, this contribution will not directly focus on FdI’s relationship with (liberal) democracy, nor will it compare the party to its predecessor AN to stress its moderately conservative tendencies. Instead, as already mentioned, it will delve into a theoretical and empirical investigation of its worldview from a supply-side, to discover how it relates – discursively and programmatically – to three distinct contemporary ideologies: conservatism, populism, and extreme right.
Theoretical Framework and Methodology
In summary, this contribution adopts a qualitative methodology and undertakes a manifesto analysis of the Brothers of Italy (FdI) party drawing primarily on the 2018 and 2022 general elections programs, supplemented by recent public statements (including interview material) by elected party representatives. That said, given the discourse analysis is more compact and direct than the manifesto analysis, the former precedes the latter in the body of this article. As the literature on party ideology suggests, the qualitative method embraced throughout is driven by an ideological approach (this functions as a theoretical framework) because in this particular case “the substance and prevalence of a party’s ideology are of primary interest to the investigator” (Lawson, 1976: 15). Ideology can be defined as “a body of normative and normative-related ideas about the nature of man and society as well as the organization and purposes of society” (Sainsbury, 1980: 8). Therefore, the main strength of the ideological approach resides in the fact that by observing a party’s ideology scholars can learn how a political organization interprets the world, frames its core values, and positions itself in relation to broader societal conflicts and ethical orientations.
Discourse Analysis (DA) is – in simple terms – “the close study of language and language use as evidence of aspects of society and social life” (Taylor, 2013: 7). It is an appropriate tool to observe the political behavioral patterns reflected by politicians to learn something about their ideology. Instead, manifesto analysis is the perusal of “strategic documents written by politically sophisticated party elites with many different objectives in mind” (Laver & Garry, 2000: 620). Considering the above, a methodological synthesis where the analysis of discourse is presented alongside the analysis of electoral programs provides a unique opportunity to unravel whether the speeches or statements made by Meloni and her parliamentary group correspond or contradict the policies put forward in written form. Manifesto analysis is also particularly useful, because, as the public policy expert Emma Norris (2019) outlines, “Manifestos are a ‘party’s contract with the electorate’ – outlining competing visions and policies that make up their respective programs for government” (Norris, 2019). It follows, then, that party programs and party ideology are inextricably linked.
The reason this study prioritizes Meloni’s statements over those of other FdI politicians is that, in a highly centralized party structure, key decisions are made primarily by the leadership—often by Meloni herself or her close inner circle (see Melito and Zulianello, 2025). Therefore, focusing on her discourse is the most effective way to identify recurring ideological trends within the party. Furthermore, it should be noted that only more recent statements (2018-2024) are considered as a unit of discourse analysis because examining party ideology through discourse cannot extend too far back: since its inception, the party has undergone major ideological shifts. Even Meloni’s most hardline positions – on Euroscepticism, nationalism, authoritarianism, and her originally sympathetic stance towards Vladimir Putin – have been notably moderated or altogether abandoned in recent years, making earlier statements less representative of the party’s current ideological trajectory.
As for manifesto analysis, this study prioritizes the 2018 and 2022 programs given their relevance to national political orientation and ideological policymaking. Especially the 2022 program, which remains contemporaneous in relation to ideological framing, as it reflects the party’s most recent national electoral platform and serves as a blueprint for its current governance agenda. Instead, the inclusion of the 2018 manifesto enables a diachronic perspective, allowing for the detection of ideological continuities and changes over time. Combined with an analysis of current (or recent) discourse, this approach enables a robust comprehension of the party’s evolution of beliefs and present stance.
Conservatism as an Ideology
Photo: Dreamstime.
Which Conservatism?
As the political theorist Edmund Neill (2021) asserts, “…unlike some of the vaguer, more contested concepts in political theory, such as nationalism, populism or fascism, conservatism appears to have a relatively fixed and stable meaning” (Neill, 2021: 1). Considering this, several scholars, including political historians, political scientists, and sociologists, either refuse to attach a permanent set of ideas to conservatism or offer disparate definitions of it, some of which are outdated in the contemporary context. The most cited definitions of modern conservatism are those belonging to theorists such as Peter Dorey (2011), Michael Freeden (1996), Ian Gilmour (1977), Samuel Huntington (1957), Karl Mannheim (1986), Michael Oakeshott (1991).
Conservative ideas are also closely associated with influential post-Enlightenment intellectuals, including Edmund Burke, G.K. Chesterton, Joseph de Maistre, T.S. Eliot, W.H. Mallock and Heinrich von Treitschke (Neill, 2021: 1-3). In the more recent past, conservatism has been tied to the ideas of figures such as Christopher Lasch, Robert Nisbet, Sir Roger Scruton, and Leo Strauss. Perhaps, using a more inclusive parameter, even the controversial French novelist Michel Houellebecq can be added to the list. Instead, the Austrian School economists Friedrich von Hayek and Ludwig von Mises are excluded, because although they have supported free-market capitalism and shared certain views with modern conservatives, they are ultimately classical liberals (Hayek, 2011; Wire and Deist, 2022).
In order to understand conservatism as an ideology, one must begin with the historical approaches to its study. For instance, Burke, an archetype of this political theory, was according to some the carrier of a rigid definition of conservatism (Bourke, 2018: 459; Huntington, 1956: 456). In essence, he laid the foundation for a conservative philosophy by presenting six definite maxims. First, Burke argued men are inherently religious beings, and religion itself is “the foundation of civil society” (Huntington, 1956: 456). Second, society needs to be understood as the natural and organic product of gradual historical growth (Huntington, 1956: 456). Third, man is primarily an instinctive and emotional creature, and habit trumps reason (Huntington, 1956: 456). Fourth, unlike liberals, Burke strongly believed community is always superior to the individual (Huntington, 1956: 456). It also for this reason that 20th-century conservative thinkers, such as Scruton, have acknowledged the importance of state intervention on private property when the general material welfare of the populace is threatened (Neill, 2021: 3). Fourth, men are naturally and inevitably unequal (Huntington, 1956: 456). Last but not least, he spoke against accelerated change, especially alterations to institutions and radical rethinking of social laws, explaining that “efforts to remedy existing evils usually result in even greater ones” (Huntington, 1956: 456). In simple terms, Burkean conservatism, favored (democratic) reform or “evolution” over violent “revolution” (Bourke, 2018: 459; Neill, 2021: 1).
Notwithstanding, it is important to note that not all political theorists explicitly refer to conservatism as a full-scale ideology or provide a fixed definitional framework with a series of core ideological characteristics. In fact, important thinkers – Russel Kirk (1953) for example – postulate that conservatism involves a rejection of abstract ideologies in favor of a more pragmatic, tradition-based approach to political affairs. After all, it is logical for conservatives to regard ideologies as artificial, radical, and disruptive, insofar as they often fail to respect tradition and tend to be progressive rather than preservationist (see Neill, 2021: 7-8). Similarly, the German-Italian sociologist, Robert Michels (1968) argued that conservatism is not a doctrinal ideology (in the sense of having stable core concepts or abstract values) but rather a “positional ideology” – essentially an attitude – capable of endless modification. Instead, Peter Dorey (2011) prefers to directly ascertain that conservatism is a form of philosophical commitment to inequality, whereas more traditionalistapproaches – adopted by Gilmour (1977) or Oakeshott (1991) – interpret conservatism mainly in relation to its attitude towards societal change, accordingly something that should be managed cautiously.
A more complete definition, where conservatism as an ideology has a relatively stable meaning, derives from the famous political scientist Huntington who suggests it is “that system of ideas employed to justify any established social order, no matter where or when it exists, against any fundamental challenge to its nature or being, no matter from what quarter” (Huntington, 1957: 455). In academia, this is often known as a dispositional approach to examine conservatism, although Huntington himself refers to it as the situational definition (Huntington, 1956: 455-456). Nevertheless, it appears that Huntington’s main objective in presenting this thesis was to support a “new” conservatism in America, one influenced by liberalism, in order to preserve the country’s liberal tradition (Bourke, 2018: 458).
The main issue with traditionalist and dispositional approaches stems from this idea that conservatism is mainly an impulsive reaction to societal change and progress. However, modern history teaches us that not all political movements we usually associate with conservatism are nostalgic, backward-looking, reactionary, or skeptical of change per se. In fact, as Bourke points out, “self-designating conservatives have often been revolutionary in temper” (Bourke, 2018: 453). Specifically, strands of conservatism tied to Anglophile society and traditions, such as the Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan phenomena, have advocated radical systemic change to modernize certain[2] aspects of society (Neill, 2021: 2).
Other very distinct examples of “revolutionary conservatives” include those intellectuals affiliated to the deutsche Bewegung (“German Movement”) who sometimes appear ideologically closer to National Socialism or fascism than conservatism, namely Ernst Jünger, Carl Schmitt and Oswald Spengler (Bourke, 2018: 454). While this form of conservatism can certainly be linked to a coherent political tradition and traditionalism per se, its most prominent feature was its “revolutionary spirit” (Bourke, 2018: 454). Moreover, there have been authoritarian and totalitarian states pursuing political causes entirely alternative to those of conservatives, the early Soviet Union, the German Democratic Republic (GDR), and Albania under Enver Hoxha, that have been extremely resistant towards societal and institutional change. None of these were conservative or “right-wing” ideologically. In other words, conservatism should not be understood as being merely a reactive (or reactionary) political philosophy.
Setting aside traditionalist and dispositional approaches, Karl Mannheim (1986) offers an alternative interpretation of conservative ideology. This sociologist dismisses the idea that conservatism is synonymous with traditionalism, or the mere upholding of the status quo. Instead, adopting a sociological perspective, Mannheim frames conservatism as a primarily (though, in his own words, “peculiarly”) modern phenomenon (Neill, 2021: 9). In essence, Mannheim argues that conservatism – as an explicit ideological stance – before the Enlightenment and the industrial revolution had no reason to exist (Mannheim, 1986 as cited in Neill, 2021: 10). From this perspective, conservatism proposes a thorough replacement to the key principles of liberal Enlightenment thought. In doing so, it champions the concrete over the abstract (Mannheim, 1986 as cited in Neill, 2021: 10). Liberal concepts such as freedom, individual liberty, or progress, lose their meaning unless they are understood as within a specific historical and cultural context, and seen as interdependent with other foundational principles like nation or tradition (Mannheim, 1986 as cited in Neill, 2021: 9-10).
In conservative ideology, the core tenets of Enlightenment and post-Enlightenment liberalism are not simply rebuffed as perilous and unnecessary, instead they are reframed in a more concrete manner, one that is “historically specific and only comprehensive within a wider social framework” (Mannheim, 1986 as cited in Neill, 2021: 10). Mannheim’s postulation is both interesting and more encouraging than other definitions for scholars who seek to define conservatism concretely, and more importantly, as an ideology. Nevertheless, in an objective critique of this approach, a political scientist, Michael Freeden (1996) highlights that “although Mannheim’s work is insightful, conservatism should not just be viewed as a peculiarly ‘reactive’ movement but as a full-scale political ideology” (Neill, 2021: 11).
Insights from Freeden
In this work, conservatism is not seen as a basic or generic attitude, nor as merely a commitment to maintaining inequality (e.g. Dorey), a reactive impulse to preserve the statusquo (e.g. Huntington), an effort to control change (e.g. Oakeshott and Gilmour), or a response to sociological shifts in defense of tradition (e.g. Mannheim). Instead, it is viewed as a more intricate and sophisticated philosophical system of beliefs. In other words, conservatism is a “systemization of ideas” or a coherent ideology (Freeden, 1996: 124-127; Neill, 2021: 11). In truth, conservatism is an ideology that possesses a morphological structure of “core concepts” – as the sociologist Michael Freeden (1996) observes. On one hand, core concepts are permanent and fundamental (Freeden, 1996: 77-91), as for example conservatism’s pessimistic idea of human nature, seen as something inherently imperfect and to be wary of. On the other hand, adjacent concepts are supplementary to core concepts and allow them to be refined and placed into a specific context (Freeden, 1996: 77-91). Regarding conservatism, it is their Hobbesian distrust that inspires their preference for limited government – as the academic Noel O’Sullivan (1976) has also argued before. Finally, peripheral concepts offer an ideology like conservatism a degree of versatility to adapt to shifting circumstances, rooted in definite times, places, and contemporary concerns (see Franks et al., 2018). For example, during and soon after the Enlightenment, conservative illiberalism (e.g. Burke was highly critical of the French revolution) was motivated by the fact new liberal ideologies were causing widespread disruption and posing a threat to accepted social norms and traditions.
In any case, Freeden’s most significant contribution to the study of conservatism is providing us (intentionally or unintentionally) with a fixed or permanent definition of this concept, one that can serve as a foundation for assessing individual cases empirically. According to him, conservatism is “a fully-fledged ideology, based around the core concepts of managing change and of an ‘extra-human’ dimension to individual agency” (Neill, 2021: 16). It is apparent that adjacent and peripheral concepts constitute secondary aspects of conservative ideology, and therefore, they will receive limited attention in this study. Given this, Freeden’s clear definition enables an empirical approach to the analysis of FdI as a specific case. Only by borrowing this precise interpretation of conservatism, we can ultimately assess whether it is this ideology that influences FdI in its discourse and political program, rather than other current ideologies, such as the ones mentioned earlier.
Populism as an Ideology
What is Populism?
Over the course of the years, theorists have continuously referred to populism as a “quintessentially contested concept” (Mudde & Kaltwasser, 2017: 2-5; Webber, 2023: 849). Indeed, its chameleonic, protean, and polymorphous characteristics, along with its inherent versatility, have made the ongoing debate surrounding the nature of populism a subject of considerable intellectual fascination on multiple fronts. Given this, it is important to emphasize that, at present, the majority scholars – regardless of whether they associate with the ideational, political-strategic, or socio-culturalschools of thought – agree that in order for populism to function there must be a Manichean sentiment that accentuates the societal tension between “common people” and the elites, pitting one group against the other. Hence, there exists a general academic consensus regarding the fundamental nature of populism (Taggart, 2018).
This leads us to the most widely accepted framework for the study of populism: the ideational approach, which is primarily associated with its key advocate, the Dutch scholar Cas Mudde (2017). Mudde defines the concept as “an ideology that considers society to be ultimately separated into two homogenous and antagonistic groups, ‘the pure people’ versus ‘the corrupt elite’, and which argues that politics should be an expression of the volonté générale (general will) of the people” (Mudde, 2017: 29). According to this framework, “theoretically, populismdistinguishes the people and the elite on the basis of just one dimension, i.e. morality” (Mudde, 2017: 32). Thus, in the simplistic and Manichean terms that populism abides by anti-elitism is merely the idea that (cultural, economic, political) elites are inherently evil(Mudde, 2017: 32-33). Following this logic, people-centrism is the idea that “the people” (regardless of whether they are defined as a class or nation) are inherently good and pure from an ethical standpoint (Mudde, 2017: 32-33). Similarly, the concept of volonté générale should be understood as “closely linked” to this “homogenous interpretation of the people” (Mudde, 2017: 33). It reflects the “honest and logical priorities of the (common) people” – which only populists can allegedly interpret rightly, as they claim to base their politics on what the people want: common-sense solutions to the everyday problems of common men and women (Mudde, 2017: 33). As Mudde’s is the prevalent definition – or, as Paul Taggart (2018) succinctly puts it, the one that is “winning” – it will serve as the working definition later applied to the empirical investigation regarding FdI’s discourse, manifesto and analysis.
Evaluating Approaches to Populism
The reason why it is better to observe populism through an ideological lens is that the other approaches exhibit more flaws than Mudde’s. For instance, while the outdated economic notions of populism have been refuted over time, even more modern approaches, such as Kurt Weyland’s (2017) political-strategic approach, presents substantial limitations. According to the lead critic of this approach – Daniel Rueda (2021) – considering populism merely as a political strategy utilized by a personalistic leader to maximize electoral profit is debatable for three reasons. Firstly, Weyland’s approach suffers from “selective rationalism,” in that it unreasonably assumes that only populist actors can be pragmatic and behave as self-interested “power-seeking actors” (Rueda, 2021: 169-171). However, in practice, within the political landscape of electoral competition, liberals, conservatives, socialists, and neo-communists, pursue similar strategies (Rueda, 2021: 171).
Secondly, this approach is over-reliant on the idea of “leader-centrism” (Rueda, 2021: 174), when, in fact, not all populist actors are entirely centralized personalist parties that can only survive politically as long as their charismatic chief does. Let alone the fact that there have been several populist movements that are leaderless and characterized by a decentralized/horizontal structure, such as the Girotondi, INDIGNADOS and Occupy Wall Street, successful populist parties ranging from the rightist AfD to the leftist PODEMOS through the centrist Forward Italy![3] have outlived their leaders, continuing to be competitive in the political arena. Also, charisma is not a distinctive feature when it comes to the identity of a populist party, as some of the organizations have not always had charismatic leaders. For instance, none of the last three leaders of the AfD (Alexander Gauland, Frauke Petry, Alice Weidel) have been highly charismatic in the traditional sense, nor has Andrej Babiš from the Czech party ANO, and it is at best debatable whether other widely known figures such as Christopher Blocher, Matteo Salvini, or Geert Wilders are charismatic in the Weberian sense.
Thirdly, the political-strategic theory is contentious because while it insistingly argues that populism is not an ideology, it concomitantly criticizes the left-wing variants of populism present in Latin America (thus recognizing the existence of an ideological element) which accordingly are less moderate and less democratic than their right-wing counterparts (Rueda, 2021: 178-180). Scholars who have picked up on this, such as Rueda, have legitimately made the accusation of “normative bias” (Rueda, 2021: 178). As stressed before in a different context: “…by saying this Weyland makes the opposite mistake that a handful of liberal scholars in Europe make when they paint all right-wing populism under the same brush dismissing all populism as reactionary, xenophobic and exclusivist. It is never a good idea to overlook individual cases that can be entirely different from one another…” (Varriale, 2024: 19).
Similarly, the socio-cultural approach put forward by Pierre Ostiguy (2017) in The Oxford Handbook of Populism has a limitation. Ostiguy frames populism as a performative aspect of politics and argues it can be situated on a high-low axis orthogonal to the right-left dimension of a coordinate grid (Ostiguy, 2017: 77-87). This axis supposedly concerns the interactions between political actors and the population (Ostiguy, 2017: 77). Accordingly, political actors who are notpopulist are located on the high dimension because apart from utilizing institutionally mediated and impersonal authority (e.g. proceduralism or reglamentismo)to lead supporters, they also tend to be “well-behaved,” “stiff,” “polished,” and always educated, formal, and polite in manifesting their cosmopolitanism (Ostiguy, 2017: 79). In contrast, populists are the opposite from both a political-cultural and socio-cultural perspective and are positioned on the “low” pole of politics. Essentially, while being “nativist” and “culturally popular” they are also vulgar and uninhibited in their speech and come across as highly personalist in terms of leadership (Ostiguy, 2017: 79). Hence, populists rely on personal authority and behavioral strength to mobilize supporters (Ostiguy, 2017: 79). However, this theory overly generalizes, as not all populists fit the “low” category in both political-cultural and socio-cultural terms. For instance, few scholars question the populist credentials of the US People’s Party and the Pim Fortuyn List (LPF), yet their political-cultural mannerisms differed substantially from Ostiguy’s description (Mudde, 2017: 41).
Given these circumstances, despite the fact not all scholars agree with Mudde’s assertion that populism is inherently an ideology (e.g. Schroder, 2020), or more specifically a “thin-centered” one that relies on other ideologies to function (see Mudde, 2004), the ideational approach remains the most appropriate framework to study populism. It is undisputable that anti-elitism, alongside people-centrism and the concept of “general will,” are central components of the populist narrative across the political spectrum. In summary, since the majority of scholars directly or indirectly employ ideational approaches (and definitions) to populism (see Abts & Rummens, 2007; Hawkins & Kaltwasser, 2017; Rooduijn, 2013, Rovira Kaltwasser, 2014, Stanley, 2008) this approach will also be assumed in this contribution to determine whether a key Italian political actor can be effectively classified as a populist formation.
Extreme Right as an Ideology
Casa Pound, an Italian neo-fascist extreme right-wing political association, held a manifestation in honor of fallen comrades in Milan on April 29, 2012. Photo: Eugenio Marongiu.
Extreme Right, Radical Right and Other Terms: An Overview
In this contribution, the choice for the term “extreme right” over other academic terminologies is based on the fact that, despite some disagreements (as we shall discuss below), it remains the most widely accepted, even though there is no universally agreed-upon definition (Mudde, 2000: 16). More crucially, it enables a comprehensive description of an ideology that consists of multiple diverse features (Mudde, 2000: 16). However, unlike conservatism and populism, which are today more readily definable ideologies, categorizing the so-called “extreme right” as a singular ideology is a more complex task. As Mudde himself states: “almost every scholar in the field point to the lack of a generally accepted definition” regarding what this term precisely means and which parties belong to its party family (Mudde, 2000: 10).
In essence, there are three cardinal reasons that render the objective usage of this term for political parties and movements relatively complicated. First, “extreme right” is sometimes conflated by scholarship with other terms such as “radical right” (Bell, 2001; Betz, 1994), “new right” (Chryssogelos, 2013), “ultra-right” (Padovani, 2016), or even “populist right” (Gross, 2022). For example, during the mid-to-late 20th century, scholars, particularly from English-speaking countries, frequently used these terms interchangeably to refer to the American nationalist movements located to the right of mainstream conservatism on the political spectrum (Ignazi, 2000: 38-40). Among those, radically conservative phenomena such as the John Birch Society and the McCarthyites, which were certainly vehemently anti-communist and perhaps even anti-pluralist but not necessarily opposed to representative democracy per se (Ignazi, 2000: 40-41).
However, the main issue emerged when this label began incautiously being applied to a heterogeneous array of parties and movements across Europe, which were ideologically disparate (Ignazi, 2000: 42). This practice failed to discern between anti-establishment and anti-systemic actors, reformist and revolutionary movements, as well as democratic and anti-democratic parties. Not to mention, terms like “radical right” – still the most utilized alternative to extreme right in scholarship – were adopted incautiously to include extra-parliamentary terrorist groups that openly engage in illegal activity and aim to overthrow the democratic system entirely (Ignazi, 2000: 42). In essence, such a disjointed assemblage persisted into the late 20th century and erroneously grouped European anti-systemic and anti-democratic parties, typically neofascist groups, alongside American pro-systemic and democratic right-wing movements that had no connection to fascism or neofascism (Ignazi, 2000: 42).
Analogous challenges surface with the designation “new right,” as there is still no scholarly consensus on which parties belong to this political famille spirituelle or on what type of rightist ideology this label should reflect overall. In French and Italian academic circles, the nouvelle droite or nuova destra is used to refer to the anti-capitalist, anti-liberal, and “ethno-pluralist” intellectual movement inspired by the GRECE[4] and in particular by the essayist Alain de Benoist (Ignazi, 2000: 43). In contrast, within the Anglosphere thinkers spoke of the “new right” only when referring to neoliberal and moderate movements focusing on the historical experiences of Thatcherism and Reaganism (Ignazi, 2000: 47). Essentially, this term has been employed to describe fully distinct phenomena with opposing perspectives, especially in the context of the political economy.
It is also for this reason that today scholars who normally advocate for an ideational approach, such as Andrea L.P. Pirro (2021), have supported the use of new “umbrella concepts” – supposedly useful in the American context – such as “far right,” which purposely encompasses both political actors who are illiberal but democratic (e.g. “populist radical right”) and those who are entirely anti-democratic (e.g. “extreme right”) (Pirro, 2021: 3-6). However, this view can be problematic, as there is a fundamental axiological difference between parties that support democracy but are skeptical of certain aspects of liberal-democracy (such as the rule of law and individual/minority rights) and parties that outright reject democracy altogether. The term far right is only useful, if useful at all, when applied to so-called borderline cases (see Tarchi, 2015), namely Alternative for Germany (AfD), the old British National Party (BNP) led by Nick Griffin, and the Hungarian Jobbik. In theory, those parties outwardly endorse democratic representation, but their rhetoric and actions, as well as their links at a local level (at times with the “skinhead” community), suggest otherwise. In practice, they advocate for ultra-authoritarian positions and ultimately oppose democratic principles.
Second, it remains unclear whether the extreme right party family should include actors who, in addition to repudiating democratic and liberal values, also openly embrace the fascist and/or National Socialist ideological tradition(s). One claim that can be made is that in the same way not all radical right parties are necessarily populist (although today most are), not all extreme right parties are neofascist or neo-Nazi. Essentially, this argument posits that an actor can be considered both “extremist” and “right-wing” (thus the label “extreme right”) due to their objection to pluralism (to the extent where political violence is tolerated or promoted) and equality (to the point where racial differences are regarded as natural and positive), without necessarily aligning with what Roger Eatwell (1992) illustrates as “Generic Fascism.”
In defense of this assertion, empirical work by historians such as Robert O. Paxton (2005) reminds us of that corporatist regimes such as the Francoist dictatorship in Spain and the Estado Novo (New State) led by António de Oliveira Salazar in Portugal were ideologically very far to the right, but did not fully align with the characteristics of fascism. Not only did they lack some of fascism’s defining features, such as militaristic mass mobilization and an intense cult of personality, but these deeply conservative and repressive dictatorships chose to ban fascist movements in their countries, namely the Spanish Falange (José Antonio Primo de Rivera) and the Portuguese Legion. Notwithstanding, the vastmajority of contemporary extreme right parties are directlyinfluenced by fascist or National Socialist ideologies, often employing the myths and symbols associated with both for political purposes. Hence, scholars who discriminately use the term “extreme right” to refer to neofascist and neo-Nazi movements today are doing so in bona fides and are, quite justified in their approach.
Third, as Mudde explains, “there is a large number of political parties whose extreme right status is not debated” (Mudde, 2000: 16). However, sometimes it can still be difficult to differentiate between populist radical right parties and extreme right ones, especially when the latter attempt to modernize and “moderate” their positions for strategic rather than ideological purposes. For example, this occurred with the BNP under Griffin’s leadership, as he invited his supporters to abandon the “three Hs” – hard talk, hobbyism, and Hitler (Cobain, 2006; see also Copsey, 2008: 138). Essentially, the idea was to have them stop shaving their heads, dressing in black, wearing big Dr. Martens boots, and expressing sympathy for Nazi actions during World War II. Also, extreme right parties may engage in a “double-speak strategy” which simply imitates the language of liberal democracy without effectively adhering to it (Feldman and Jackson, 2014).
Similarly to FdI, which has been accused of tolerating the antisemitism and fascism of its youth sections in Rome (see Corriere Della Sera, June 14, 2024), organizations like the AfD actively participate in representative democracy yet continue to discretely engage with much more extremist factions at a local extra-parliamentary level (Hülsemann, 2024). In fact, the latter, still has a supposedly neo-Nazi wing called Der Flügel (see Pytlas and Biehler, 2023). On the other hand, it has also occurred historically that liberal-conservative parties have radicalized themselves under a new leadership, the Freedom Party of Austria (FPÖ) taken over by the charismatic Jörg Haider in 1986 serves as a textbook example of this phenomenon (see Moreau, 2024). This creates even more confusion when discussing these types of parties.
Defining the “Extreme Right”
Casting aside doubts and disagreements over terminology, defining the extreme right remains an essential academic practice before undertaking an empirical investigation of the phenomenon. In this contribution, the minimal definition employed and tested throughout the qualitative analysis is a recent one introduced by scholar Elisabeth Carter (2018) who asserts this ideology encompasses authoritarianism, anti-democracy, and/or holistic nationalism (Carter, 2018: 174). Firstly, authoritarianism is characterized by “conventionalism,” “submission,” and “aggression.” Thus, a state or a party which ideologically promotes traditional social norms and morality (e.g. anti-abortion, anti-homosexuality, and patriarchal family structure) as well as the duty and compliance of citizens to the government, and punitive legal measures for those individuals who do not comply is an authoritarian entity (Carter, 2018: 169). Secondly, anti-democracy is defined as “any opposition to, or rejection or undermining of, the values of democracy, or of the values and the procedures and institutions of democracy…” (Carter, 2018: 170). Thirdly, nationalism – “in its holistic form” – can be defined as something that “undermines the civil and political liberty of the individual through the requirement of subordination to the collective…when it is exclusionary, not least because it targets minorities who are citizens, it signals a rejection of pluralism, diversity and equality” (Carter, 2018: 172). This builds on Mudde’s characterization of nationalism as “a political doctrine that proclaims congruence of the political unit, the state, and the cultural unit, the nation” (Mudde, 1995: 209).
Accordingly, in this case, if FdI is effectively recognized as an extreme right party, its ideology – from which its policies are derived – and its discourse will have to reflect most, if not all, of these elements. For example, if only two out of the three elements are present it will already be difficult to legitimate FdI as comfortably belonging to the extreme right party family. The main strength of Carter’s definition resides in its clarity and precision, as well as its universality and efficiency for the study of political parties. Fundamentally, this minimal definition is more concise but also more precise than other maximal definitions available. Also, its universality or “travelability” is remarkable, as it is easy to speculate – regardless of the geographic location – that a right-wing extremist party will in one way or the other be authoritarian rather than libertarian, distrust and despise the values and procedures of democracy, and identify with a nation to the point of celebrating both the cultural and ethnic characteristics of its people in a predominantly exclusionary manner. In essence, ethno- nationalism rather than civic nationalism.
Moreover, other popular definitions – Mudde’s (1995) for instance – have been very effective in conveying a general idea of what ideological concepts revolve around extreme right parties (e.g. nationalism, racism, xenophobia, anti-democracy, strong state). However, as this author himself admits, it is difficult to find parties that match these with complete accuracy (Mudde, 2000: 17). In another empirical investigation where Mudde observes the party literature of parties in Germany, Belgium and the Netherlands, he discovers not all are archetypal extreme right parties, as they are not unquestionably anti-democratic, nor are they always ethno-nationalists (Mudde, 2000: 165-184). Ultimately, it will be Carter’s definition that undergoes scrutiny to yield reliable results and provide further insights into Meloni’s political party.
Anatomy of FdI: A Discourse Analysis
Supporters with Brothers of Italy flags during the electoral tour of the party’s leader Giorgia Meloni in Caserta, Italy on September 18, 2022. Photo: M. Cantile.
Examples of Conservatism in Discourse
Examples of FdI’s conservatism in discourse are evident in several public statements. Firstly, Meloni is known to quote the fathers of conservative thought, Chesterton and Scruton, in her speeches (Starkey, 2022; Laghos, 2022). For instance, she shared the former’s line: “swords will be drawn to prove that leaves are green in the summer” (Laghos, 2022). The original quote by Chesterton was intended as a satirical commentary, essentially a critique of the human propensity to clash with each other over trivialities, especially when ideologies become involved. On one hand, it is logical for Meloni – as a self-proclaimed conservative – to be skeptical of ideologies followed to the letter, particularly those she views as opposing her beliefs, such as socialism and Marxism. On the other hand, putting forward this quote contradicts her party’s broader outlook, which frames the natural (and “inevitable”) struggle against external threats to the nation – namely, the Islamic world, China, Russia, and any political entities promoting progressivism (or “woke ideology”) – all in defense of a Christian “Europe of the people” (Meloni, June 1, 2024). Uncoincidentally, in an article for The European Conservative, the political analyst Mario Laghos (2022) suggests “Meloni isn’t a modernist; she’s a profoundly Christian conservative. Her mission is to defend identity, spirituality, and the family” (Laghos, 2022).
Secondly, a series of declarations originating from Meloni’s speeches at rallies, in press conferences, and interviews[5], are a clear sign of this politician’s philosophical attachment to conservative ideas. The same can be stated about the majority of her party officials and cabinet ministers. In fact, what transpires from the discourse of Meloni and FdI representatives is an inclination to be skeptical of change, and the desire to manage it (particularly regarding abortion, the nuclear family, and LGBTQ+ rights), alongside a conscious acceptance that individual agency is influenced by forces beyond the human domain. In essence, FdI’s weltanschauung frames a narrative of nation, tradition, divine and civilizational order (known as “Civilizationism” in academic terms, see Brubaker, 2017) that demands loyalty and action beyond self-interest.
On one hand, an example of their will to control change comes from a statement published by Meloni herself on social media: “Yes to the nuclear family, no to LGBT lobbies. Yes to sexual identity, no to gender ideology” (Meloni, Instagram, June 15, 2022). This is a purely conservative position rather than a populist one. In fact, “radical left populist” parties (e.g. PODEMOS, Five Star Movement) and (now extinct) more libertarian right-wing populists (e.g. Pim Fortuyn List), tend to adopt a more flexible and inclusive definition of the people, and are generally more lenient toward the LGBTQ+ community. Whereas Meloni has never explicitly spoken against the rights of sexual minorities, her party’s stance to wholeheartedly conserve conformist social norms in a Catholic-majority country inevitably led her to oppose radical changes on these matters. In a similar vein, she has spoken against Assisted Reproductive Technology (ART), including gestational surrogacy (Meloni, as cited in Sallusti, 2023: 52-53).
Paradoxically, in some instances Meloni – wittingly or unwittingly – has accepted ideas and conserved policies that are liberal or progressive rather than conservative. For example, when in power FdI avoided scrapping the center-Left’s law on civil unions. Additionally, the FdI-led government retained the Italian legge 194 (“law 194”) which renders abortion legal (even in subjects deemed healthy) within three months of pregnancy – as emphasized by Meloni during the G7summit held in Italy in June 2024 (Il Sole 24 Ore, YouTube, June 15, 2024). In these particular cases, Huntington’s theory of conservatism (discussed earlier) may seem more plausible, as these are classic examples of a common tendency among conservatives to prioritize political stability and the status quo, sometimes even aligning with ideas that may conflict with traditional conservative values. In other circumstances, Meloni attempted to reassure the population that “homophobia, meaning contempt for anyone who has a certain sexual orientation which results in discrimination or even physical violence, is an unacceptable scourge that should be forcefully fought against” (Meloni, as cited in Sallusti, 2023: 54). Hence, on social issues, Meloni is increasingly framing FdI’s positions to align with a more moderate form of conservatism, already prevalent in the European Nordic regions and in the Anglosphere, as she draws inspiration from parties such as the British Tories (Roberts, 2022; Decode39, April 28, 2023).
Indeed, when Meloni calls for a society that champions ““liberty of vote, liberty in business, liberty in expression,” she is speaking the language of liberal conservatism, rather than that of the old Italian destra sociale (“social Right”) associated with the MSI—and only marginally with a more ideologically constrained vision (for a detailed socio-economic account, see Andriola, 2020). That type of socialistic extreme right was still influenced by neofascist anti-capitalism, marked also by strong chauvinistic welfarism, economic interventionism, and ultimately an ultra-authoritarian, statist outlook. A similar strand of this ideology was found in neighboring France during the Vichy-regime era, where Maréchal Petain forcefully emphasized collectivist conservative values such as “Travail, Famille, Patrie” (“Work, Family, Fatherland”) instead of economic and individual freedom.
On the other hand, examples of how Meloni’s rhetoric draws on a moralistic and transcendental narrative are found in a diverse array of her public statements. Examples are drawn from her recurring references to the “sacred borders of the fatherland” or when she states the family, a union between a man and a woman… is the vital cell of society. According to this deeply conservative view, the individual is inescapably dependent on this extra-human dimension of social life and factors beyond human agency – including cultural inheritance and the family as a pre-political institution – play a crucial role in one’s integration into society. As alluded to earlier, this contrasts with progressive-liberal perspectives that instead affirm human agency, rational choice, and opportunities for social engineering or radical reform. In a lengthy interview, Meloni asserts, “What I am is the fruit of what has generated me—of the traditions and culture I have inherited, of the influence of religion in my civilization” (Meloni, as cited in Sallusti, 2023: 38).
It is evident that, under Meloni’s leadership, FdI rejects modern progressive liberalism in favor of a more conservative version of liberalism. In this view, society is not simply a collection of atomized individuals but something more organic; individuals find meaning in life through deeper “extra-human” connections. In this vision, an individual’s everyday experience is shaped by culture, national identity, religion, and even biological sex. In this respect, FdI’s stance reflects a traditionally conservative position—one that is not necessarily illiberal or anti-liberal, but certainly not liberal either. More precisely, it can be described as a form of post-liberalism.[6] However, discussing her party’s view, Meloni insists that “liberal democracy is in our DNA” (Meloni, as cited in Sallusti, 2023: 39).
Turning to another aspect, FdI’s discourse frequently weaves together elements of conservatism and populism. On the rare occasions when populism takes a more prominent role, it typically emerges as a critique of supranational bodies, portrayed as being tainted by progressive or pro-migrant ideologies. Specifically, Meloni accuses the United Nations (UN) of attempting to use the Global Compact to “complete the grand plan of financial speculation, to deprive nations and people of their identity. Because without roots you’re a slave, and when you are a slave, you serve the interests of Soros” (Laghos, 2022). This statement contains a pronounced conspiratorial undertone. As the literature indicates, populists in power—whether ideologically or strategically—often employ conspiracy theories to “demonize and delegitimize” their opponents (Taggart & Pirro, 2022). Similarly to Meloni, FdI’s Antonio Baldelli makes his accusation: “numerous members of the Democratic Party (PD) and the Greens and Left Alliance (AVS) have obtained conspicuous financial support (more than 1,000,000 euros) from associations tied to the financier George Soros” (Il Fatto Quotidiano, YouTube, April 24, 2024).
Therefore, one observable trend in the discourse analysis is the persistent use of antagonistic and inflammatory rhetoric—often marked by paranoid and conspiratorial tropes—towards political opponents, particularly the Democratic Party (PD), the Five Star Movement, and the left more broadly. Even Meloni, who generally serves as the “friendly face” of her party, tends to radicalize some of her otherwise more temperate positions (as we will discuss in subsequent paragraphs) on immigration when criticizing the policies of her leftist rivals. In La Versione di Giorgia(“Giorgia’s Take”), numerous interview passages portray the left-leaning Hungarian philanthropist, banker, and entrepreneur, George Soros in a purely negative light (Meloni, as cited in Sallusti, 2023: 50). In one instance, Meloni declares “I do not believe in puppeteers, however, speaking of Soros, this is a person that has publicly taken responsibility for having speculated against the Italian Lira in 1992 and today, through his galaxy of foundations, pursues a political agenda. This includes lavish foundations to some NGO’s that deal with immigration” (Meloni, as cited in Sallusti, 2023: 50). While—as the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) notes—not every actor who promotes Soros-related conspiracy theories is necessarily advancing antisemitism, the narrative becomes clearly antisemitic when his pro-immigration views, background in banking, and legal funding of NGOs are deliberately linked to his Jewish heritage (see ADL.org, October 11, 2018). Given this, there is no substantive evidence of antisemitism in Meloni’s or FdI’s political discourse; their critique of Soros appears rooted primarily in policy disagreements over immigration. However—as we shall explore—while FdI is not strictly a populist party, it clearly employs populist rhetoric in specific contexts.
Examples of Populism in Discourse
Giorgia Meloni, Italy’s prime minister, speaks at the Atreju convention in Rome, Italy on December 16, 2023. Photo: Alessia Pierdomenico.
Beyond conservatism, the analysis of discourse predominantly associates this party with the populist party family. In fact, if scholars were to observe only the discourse and disregard other elements of analysis, such as policy positions, in order to attribute a precise ideology to FdI, many would likely infer that, due to its occasional inflammatory rhetoric—tainted with a mix of anti-elitism and people-centrism—the party is staunchly populist above all else. In early 2024, it was Meloni herself who stated in a parliamentary address that “nothing comes before the interests of the Italian people”(Meloni, March 21, 2024). This phrase resonates not only with contemporary textbook definitions of populism, such as Mudde’s, but also with older ones, like Edward Shils’ (1996). In fact, according to this leading sociologist, “populism proclaims that the will of the people as such is supreme over every other standard—over the standards of traditional institutions, over the autonomy of institutions, and over the will of other strata. Populism identifies the will of the people with justice and morality” (Shils, 1996).
Moreover, it was also Meloni who in her autobiographical book stressed that she is “proud to come from the people” and that before the 2018 Atreju[7]event appeared in an official party poster with the following slogan encapsulated: “peopleagainst elites, identity against finance, sovereignty against technocracy” (Meloni, September 15, 2018). These are all tropes of ideological populism, as they are basic examples of anti-elitist and people-centric messages. Other than Meloni, many of her elected representatives employ the same rhetorical strategy of opposing various elites in the name of a “pure,” morally virtuous, and—at least from their perspective—homogeneous Italian people. It is this idea of homogeneity that prompts some of FdI’s elected representatives to voice more controversial views—ones that Meloni typically avoids. A clear illustration of the intersection between populist nativism[8]– rooted in the idea of “the pure people” (as defined by Mudde) – and extreme right holistic nationalism, can be found in a speech by FdI’s Minister of Agriculture, Francesco Lollobrigida (also Meloni’s brother-in-law). During a formal event held by a bipartisan and independent organization focused on promoting births, Lollobrigida declared that “an Italian ethnicity exists” and that it should be preserved (see Mastrodonato, 2023). In this case, although FdI (and Meloni in particular) partially defended Lollobrigida’s remarks—arguing that his language could have been more refined and concurrently asserting that there is a difference between the terms “race” and “ethnicity,” and that the party’s role is to preserve Italy’s cultural and linguistic identity rather than the population’s biological characteristics—this can still be understood as nativism. In fact, scholars who have thoroughly investigated both the populist right and the extreme right have pointed to a “new,” softened version of xenophobia that does not involve biological racism but rather cultural nativism (Betz, 2003: 195) or culturism(Schinkel, 2017).
From a socio-political standpoint, cultural nativism refers to the belief in the superiority of certain cultures—understood as “customs” and “ways of life”—relative to others (see Betz, 2003: 195). In any case, certain views regarding an epic struggle to counter immigration, declining birth rates, and liberal or progressive elites, expressed by FdI’s high-ranking politicians (e.g., Lollobrigida), are a cause for concern when they resonate with the Great Replacement Theory formulated by the French intellectual Renaud Camus (2021). This popular conspiracy theory argues that left-leaning corporate and political elites are orchestrating mass immigration and hyper-ethnic change aimed at replacing white majorities in Western countries with non-white people from Africa, Asia, and Latin America.
Setting aside its core concepts for a moment, populism also presents itself as an assemblage of distinct secondary (or “adjacent”) features. One of these is the idea that populists—especially those on the Right—seek to present themselves not only as the direct alternative to neoliberal, internationalist, and progressive ideologies but also as post-ideologicalactors altogether. Although populism is deeply ideological, populists are convinced that 18th- and 20th-century ideologies are too outdated and divisive for the monist and monolithic community (also known as the heartland) they idolize (see Taggart, 2000). When one of Meloni’s right-hand men and MEP, Nicola Procaccini, reposts online that the EU “has to focus on the concrete needs of citizens and offer solutions to the real necessities of the people, abandoning the insane ideologies of the past,” the concept of volonté générale subtly comes into play (Procaccini, February 12, 2025). More crucially, this statement shows that new-wave populists aim and claim to be post-ideological, yet it remains unclear whether this is an adjacent concept of populist ideology or simply a political strategy.
Similarly, in her book-length interview, when asked by her interlocutor – a well-known Italian journalist – what kind of political Right her party aspires to represent, Meloni plainly responds: “the camp of realism” in contrast to “the left’s utopian ideals” (Meloni, as cited in Sallusti, 2023: 36). Additionally, discussing the relationship between USA and Italy (after Trump’s tariffs) at a conference, FdI Senator Giovanni Fazzolari, asserts “Italy’s position does not change, because it is not ideological and pursues national interest” (Fazzolari, as cited in Scafi, 2025). These types of statements by FdI politicians further illustrate that Meloni’s party aspires to be a home for mostly moderate voters who may be skeptical of excessive liberalism (as both conservatives and populists are) but also endorse a pragmatic, business-oriented realpolitik rather than an idealistic approach. FdI is an ideological party in that it is driven by a set of core ideas, beliefs, and principles that shape its policies and actions, but it is not idealistic, as it does not pursue lofty, unattainable goals.
Examples of Right-Wing Extremism in Discourse
Examples of extreme right (or neofascist) forms of discourse are either rare or nonexistent in FdI’s repertoire, at least[9]among its parliamentary representatives. However, exceptions or isolated instances can be found in statements made by the President of the Senate of Italy, Ignazio La Russa MP, and Andrea Delmastro Delle Vedove MP, the Undersecretary at the Ministry of Justice. Although La Russa, like his party leader Meloni, has clearly stated that “with neofascists and folklorist nostalgia we have nothing to share” (Linkiesta, October 14, 2021), he also ambiguously told an interviewer in 2022 that “we are all heirs of the Duce” (Mackinson, 2022). Additionally, when former Prime Minister and current Senator Matteo Renzi provocatively called La Russa a camerata (“a fascist comrade”) after being interrupted during a speech in parliament, La Russa—who is known to possess fascist-era memorabilia in his home—did not object, nor did he sue Renzi for defamation (Corriere della Sera, December 24, 2024).
Nevertheless, the most prominent example of extreme right authoritarianism and anti-democratic rhetoric in FdI’s public discourse originates from Delmastro Delle Vedove MP, the Undersecretary at the Ministry of Justice. At an Italian Penitentiary Police meeting, where new state vehicles were being showcased, this MP openly stated: “The idea of seeing this powerful vehicle parade, the idea of letting citizens know who is behind that darkened glass, just as we do not let those behind that darkened glass breathe, is certainly an intimate joy for me” (Renzi, 2025: 112). The use of such language is clearly incompatible with any conception of democracy and its liberal foundations – particularly the rule of law and protection of human rights (Renzi, 2025: 113). Following this politician’s remark, both constitutional scholars and political opponents of FdI have emphasized that, unlike in authoritarian regimes (such as Fascist dictatorships), democratic states do not seek to dehumanize individuals in this manner, irrespective of whether they come from a background of organized crime or political terrorism (Renzi, 2025: 113).
For all that, except for infrequent exceptions, a discourse analysis shows that features of extreme right ideology—such as authoritarianism and anti-democracy—are largely absent from the discourse of Meloni and her MPs. Moreover, even another core feature of right-wing extremism, namely holistic nationalism, is not consistently present in official speeches. As previously noted, holistic nationalism is a form of ethno-nationalism that, unlike civic nationalism, seeks to enforce ethnic, cultural, and spiritual uniformity within the nation-state. Overall, it is inherently exclusive, as it rejects internal diversity in favor of promoting a paternalistic and interventionist state that actively shapes national identity and loyalty. It has already been established that FdI is, above all, Meloni’s party, with her playing the central role in setting its agenda and making key decisions. Even so, Meloni herself cannot be considered an ethno-nationalist; her brand of nationalism is increasingly framed in civic and liberal-democratic terms. For example, in April 2024, during a bilateral meeting in Tunisia, she called for Italy to accept “more legal immigrants” (Fassini, 2024).
To be sure, Meloni’s positions on (or against) illegal immigration are—so far as discourse is concerned—not framed as extreme right positions. Meloni promotes a “sustainable and legal” form of immigration, which she refers to as “compatible immigration,” drawing on an old theory of integration developed by the Catholic-conservative thinker Cardinal Giacomo Biffi (Meloni, as cited in Sallusti, 2023). FdI’s leader also reframes Pope Francis’ message (albeit in a more populist and subtly ethno-pluralist fashion) and argues that people who migrate to European countries, especially from the African continent, must also have the financial opportunity and right not to migrate (Meloni, as cited in Sallusti, 2023: 48).
At first glance, this moderation of language does not appear to be a variant of double-speak—a strategy in which extreme right actors mimic the language of liberal democrats. Rather, it seems to reflect a moderation that, despite its (distant) neofascist origins, is now steadily progressing toward liberal conservatism. To provide a comparative example, a party in Europe that has followed a similar trajectory is Marine Le Pen’s National Rally (RN) (see Varriale, 2024). In their respective countries, these parties have—to some degree—become more open to legal immigration and have reconsidered their hardline positions on abortion, gay marriage, and human rights in general.
Anatomy of FdI: A Manifesto Analysis
A poster for the 2024 European elections featuring Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni in Rome, Italy on May 4, 2024. Photo: Stefano Chiacchiarini.
As previously discussed, this section analyzes only FdI’s 2018 and 2022 electoral programs, as they are deemed the most relevant for understanding the party’s current ideological stance, rather than reflecting positions from ten or twelve years ago. Moreover, FdI’s programs for EU elections (such as those in 2019 and 2024) are not analyzed, as these are second-order elections compared to domestic ones. As a result, they reveal less about a party’s ideological tendencies and more about how it wishes to be perceived in the European arena, as well as which parties it seeks to align with at the EU Parliament level.
Nevertheless, in-depth analyses of older electoral programs or ideological manifestos (e.g., the 2013 general election program, the 2014 EU election program, and the Tesi di Trieste) are already available in the scholarly literature (e.g., Donà, 2022; Sondel-Cedarmas, 2022; Tarchi, 2024). While the scholar Alessia Donà (2022) postulates that the second party convention, which produced the 2017 Tesi di Trieste, “formalized the radical right shift of FdI,” Tarchi emphasizes that alongside classic PRR positions, “other ideas were rather inspired by a conservative philosophy, destined, over time, to take precedence over the party’s political culture…” (Tarchi, 2024). More specifically, Tarchi points to the party’s criticism of the “cult of progress,” its repudiation of gender theory, its valorization of Italy’s historical heritage (e.g., art, landscape, nature), and its glorification of authority in state and society to suggest that the party is ultimately more conservative than populist (Tarchi, 2024).
Taking this into account, the characterization of FdI as unequivocally part of the PRR warrants both revision and refinement. Examining the party’s more recent programs is likely to produce distinct conclusions regarding its ideological orientation.
FdI’s 2018 Program
In a similar manner to the Tesi di Trieste, conservative and populist positions stand out in the 2018 electoral program titled “A Program for Italy: For Growth, Security, Family and Full Employment.”[10] However, in terms of economic policy, rather than adhering to overt economic nationalism or populism, FdI endorses a substantial degree of neoliberalism. A flat tax—where the tax rate is essentially the same for Italian citizens with higher incomes as for those with lower incomes—is proposed to stimulate the Italian economy (FdI 2018, section 1, point 1).
Although no specific income threshold is provided, and in a bid to appeal to the working class (an example of people-centrism, and thus populism), the document clearly states there should be a no-tax area for the more economically destitute (FdI 2018, section 1, point 1). Additionally, the so-called pace fiscale (“Fiscal Peace”) is promoted to give small and medium businesses (and individual taxpayers) the opportunity to rectify previous irregularities in accordance with the law (FdI 2018, section 1, point 3). FdI also aims to “facilitate access to (state) credit for small and medium businesses” (FdI 2018, section 1, point 9).
From a populist-conservative perspective, local small businesses are seen as an integral part of the organic state—essentially the backbone of the national economy—in contrast to big businesses, such as multinationals and third-sector financial services, which are blamed for offshoring and depriving ordinary Italians of jobs and Italy of its manufacturing base. After all, producerism is a socio-economic dimension of populism (and thus also an “adjacent concept”) that “implies a moral distinction between ‘makers’ and ‘takers,’ which stigmatizes undeserving people and pits those ‘who produce society’s wealth against those who consume it without giving back’” (Ivaldi & Mazzoleni, 2024: 2).
In brief, for parties such as FdI, who often combine conservatism with populism, the craft-oriented local businesses are the virtuous “makers” whereas the multinationals and financial services corporations are the parasitic “takers.” In any case, in public, the pace fiscale is often sold by FdI representatives as a measure by a forgiving paternalist state (led by an anti-elitist and pro-people party) that rewards hardworking citizens with a fiscal amnesty, a correction of past injustices (e.g. over-taxation, excessive bureaucracy) and an instrument to protect the “common people.” Overall, it is a people-centric measure to reconcile the state with its citizens. In simple terms, FdI (similarly to their allies from the League) believes that a smaller, less bureaucratic and less interventionist state allows individuals and businesses to flourish and benefit Italy’s overall growth. This can also be interpreted as a mildly conservative stance, given that—as noted earlier—limited government intervention is a secondary or adjacent concept to the ideological core of conservatism.
In any case, the EU is perceived as a supra-national “nanny-state” bloc that keeps Italy lagging behind. Under the banner “Less constraints from Europe” (FdI 2018, section 3), the program clearly states, “No to excessive regulations that obstruct development” (FdI 2018, section 3, point 2). Scholarly literature remains divided on whether these “new” parties that combine populism with conservatism—often grouped under the umbrella term PRR in Europe—are neoliberal, pro-market forces or anti-laissez-faire statist parties that support protectionism, dirigisme, and a social-market economy (see Carter, 2005; Galli & Bochicchio, 2019; Loch, 2021; Revelli, 2017; Taggart, 1995). In sum, it appears that right-wing populist parties can be both pro- and anti-free market (Brusenbauch Meislova & Chrysoggelos, 2024). However, it is evident that more radical populist parties do not endorse the same free-market (or “globalist capitalist”) outlook supported by parties affiliated with the European People’s Party (EPP). Clearly, the former favor a more authoritarian and statist form of economic nationalism. Nevertheless, unlike other parties in France and Germany, this does not seem to apply to the same extent with FdI.
Moreover, while there is some consensus among Italian intellectuals and pundits that FdI began its political career as a socially conscious, pro-welfare, statist force, it gradually moved in a classically liberal direction in economic matters, promoting deregulation and private enterprise. In fact, a shift in economic policy can already be observed in the 2018 manifesto. However, due to its ideologically populist-conservative Eurosceptic positions—similar to those of the British right—the main culprit in economic affairs is portrayed as the EU (a “protectionist racket,” see Hall, 2019).
According to Section 3 of the program, the EU question can only be addressed by rejecting austerity politics (FdI 2018, section 3, point 1), revising EU treaties (without specifying which ones) (FdI 2018, section 3, point 3), demanding “more politics and less bureaucracy in Europe” (FdI 2018, section 3, point 4), reducing the surplus of annual EU payments (FdI 2018, section 3, point 5), and defending Italian-made products (FdI 2018, section 3, point 7). However, the term “protectionism” is deliberately avoided so as not to appear excessively radical.
Many of these EU-related positions reflect ideological conservatism intertwined with populism, as they are driven by a revanchist nationalism rooted in nostalgia—a desire to return to a romantic and glorious past (pre-Maastricht EU) in which Italy was more economically self-sufficient and political decisions were made solely by sovereign national parliaments. More crucially, FdI’s view is that only then will politics finally reflect the volonté générale of the Italian people, as opposed to that of EU elites.
With regard to foreign policy, the program does not appear to place significant emphasis on this area, presenting FdI as a party that (at least in 2018) was primarily focused on reforming Italian domestic politics. Notably, there are no explicit references to maintaining positive relations with allies such as the USA, France, Germany, or Israel—nor any mentions of major global powers like Russia or China. This suggests that, in 2018, FdI drafted its program with the awareness that it had no realistic chance of winning the election—or even of being a runner-up—and instead pursued a strategy of indirect influence. It put forward catchy and straightforward policy proposals (particularly on immigration) in the hope that larger right-wing parties (e.g., Matteo Salvini’s League) would adopt them during the electoral campaign and implement them once in power.
Notwithstanding, in this program, foreign policy intersects with domestic politics. For instance, “Section 5” policies such as “the war on terror(-ism)” (FdI 2018, Section 5, Point 1) and a proposed Marshall Plan for Africa (possibly referring to foreign aid aimed at preventing illegal immigration) (FdI 2018, Section 5, Point 4) are presented alongside domestic measures, specifically the “repatriation of all illegal immigrants” (FdI 2018, Section 5, Point 5), the “resumption of border control” (FdI 2018, Section 5, Point 2), and the introduction of a new self-defense law (FdI 2018, Section 5, Point 7), apparently modeled after the (conservative/Republican) American version, which grants homeowners more extensive rights to use force against trespassers on private property. These points suggest that FdI’s foreign policy positions—limited as they may be—are used to reinforce its domestic agenda, particularly on immigration and national security.
While state security, including anti-terrorism measures, has historically been a bipartisan issue in Italian politics—especially during the 1970s due to neofascist and neocommunist terror attacks—it was, for a time, even adopted as a valence issue by the Left (see Rampini, 2019). However, after 9/11, the securitization[11] of this topic, reframed as a “war on terror,” became closely associated with neoconservative politics in the West, often pursued to advance anti-Islamist, and at times, overtly anti-Muslim agendas (see Abbas, 2021). However, FdI not only refrains from providing a detailed discussion of the policy but also omits any mention of the specific type of terrorism to be combated—perhaps as a calculated move to be perceived as a more moderate force, one that does not scapegoat broad and diverse religious communities. This approach appears aimed at appealing to a broader centrist electorate, extending beyond hardline conservatives and fascist nostalgics.
Insofar as FdI’s stance on immigration is concerned, it comes as no surprise that a party with authoritarian and deeply nationalist roots seeks to prevent immigration—especially from non-EU nations with distinct cultures, religions, and laws—and supposed future demographic changes (or “hyper-ethnic change,” to use an academic term coined in a 2018 text) in order to supposedly preserve the “spiritual” identity of the patria (the fatherland or “motherland” Meloni often mentions). There are elements of a deep-rooted conservative philosophy here, as not only is there a strong desire to control societal changes (in this case brought about by the integration of immigrants or refugees), but also an inherently pessimistic ideo of human cohabitation.
The latter aspect is typical of the old right but also of the “new right,” as it was the French nouvelle droite that popularized the concept of “ethno-pluralism” (or “ethno-differentialism”)—the idea that mutual respect among nations and peoples can only occur under the condition that different races or ethnicities live separately in their so-called natural homelands.
Furthermore, a conservative ideology or thought process can also be linked to the concept that, according to FdI, “borders are sacred” (as noted previously in the discourse analysis). The territorial space where a population lives is seen as the epicenter of the development of their particularistic collective identity, composed of a common language, traditions, legal and social norms, behavioral patterns, and a shared destiny.[12] Notably, conservatives do not merely defend the idea of border control from a legal standpoint. Similar to their conceptualization of private property—also regarded as inviolable and sacred—borders are considered symbolic anchors of national identity.
Following this logic, the nation is not simply a political entity but is perceived as an (extra-human) transcendent force that forges and sustains the community. For obvious reasons, this conservative nationalism intertwines with populism, as almost any type of immigration is a priori viewed as an external, unnecessary threat to the peace of the heartland—thus, to the moral (rather than specifically biological, as in Nazism) purity of the people, a monolithic community that does not require external input, as this may lead to corruption. For populists, immigration is seen as nearly as great a threat to the harmony of the organic nation as the elites are; indeed, they often believe elites purposely destabilize their countries, and here conspiracies may also come into play. Like other proposals in the program, these policies are merely listed, with no details provided on how to implement them—understandably so, as at the time FdI had no real ambition to govern. In any case, this vague list of policies serves the purpose of presenting FdI to potential voters as a conservative alternative to the more liberal (FI!) and populist (League) forces within the center-right coalition.
Nevertheless, certain aspects of this program exhibit distinctly populist traits, rather than aligning with conventional conservative principles. Examples of populism are clearly present in “Section 9” of the program (titled “More Territorial Autonomy, A Better Central Government”), where FdI advances proposals such as the direct election of the President of the Republic (FdI 2018, Section 9, Point 1), the implementation of an imperative mandate (FdI 2018, Section 9, Point 3), and a reduction in the number of parliamentarians (FdI 2018, Section 9, Point 2). The first policy is unmistakably populist, as it reflects a form of direct democracy[13] in which the people (i.e., eligible voters) directly choose the Head of State through a horizontal decision-making process. Implementing this measure would diminish the decisional authority of career politicians—often portrayed as “power-hungry” and “corrupt”—within the parliamentary system and increase popular influence, thereby supposedly making the presidential selection process more democratic and transparent.
The second policy is also populist because it empowers the people to remove “elite” figures (such as elected officials) from office before the end of their term, thus increasing politicians’ accountability to ordinary citizens and reducing their insulation from public concerns. Similarly, the third policy—the reduction in the number of parliamentarians—emerges from a populist (anti-elitist and people-centric)forma mentis for four reasons. First, it conveys a sense of rejection of the political elite, aiming to make Italian representative parliamentary democracy more efficient and cost-effective by reducing the privileges of the political class—or “caste,” as populists often argue. Second, it promotes the idea that a smaller parliament can make swifter and more people-centered decisions. Third, the reduction is seen as an opportunity to challenge the establishment and signal radical reform. In all three of FdI’s policies, there is a clear commitment to reform from a populist perspective, in which the people—both virtuous and endowed with common sense—are trusted to make important political decisions.
Conversely, “Section 7” of the program is titled “More Support to the Family” and encompasses both traditional conservative and more modern liberal-conservative policies. With regard to the former, FdI suggests that the family is unequivocally the “first and fundamental nucleus of society” (FdI 2018, Section 7, Point 1). Ironically, Margaret Thatcher—considered to reflect a Right that is more liberal than FdI—used to say, “there is no such thing as society, but just individuals and families” (see McLachlan, 2020). In the same section, FdI proposes “an extraordinary plan for births,” accompanied by entirely free nursery school (a policy most conservative and PRR parties agree upon) and state subsidies to families based on the number of children they have (FdI 2018, Section 7, Point 2).
Concerning the latter, FdI’s program suggests “protection of work for young mothers” (FdI 2018, Section 7, Point 4) and the “defense of equal opportunity and protection of women” in the workplace, as well as “pension recognition in favor of mothers” (FdI 2018, Section 7, Point 5). These policies reflect FdI’s more liberal-democratic side. After all, Meloni—who claims to be “proud to be a woman and a mother” (in addition to being a Christian)—often talks about the challenges women face in modern society, especially single women who struggle economically and sometimes find themselves forced to consider abortion or options such as surrogacy. Other modern conservative policies appear in Sections “8” and “10” of the program, where the party suggests the “progressive elimination of precarious employment” (FdI 2018, Section 8, Point 8), the “protection of the environment” (FdI 2018, Section 8, Point 3), and support for renewable energy (FdI 2018, Section 10, Point 11).
The first set of policies is modern because, although they reflect a conservative perspective (FdI acknowledges motherhood as part of a broader social-demographic policy), they are adapted to conform to the values of a contemporary liberal-democratic Western society—a society where women are an active, fundamental, and indispensable part of both the family (as mothers and caretakers) and the workforce. Moreover, FdI appears to have a different view from most PRR and radical conservative parties on this issue, as their plan prioritizes women’s rights in the labour system (e.g., workplace representation, pensions). PRR parties, in particular, are theoretically against any form of affirmative action, as they believe it undermines the principle of meritocracy and increasingly benefits distinct minorities at the expense of majorities.
The second set of policies discussed above also reflects a modern and pragmatic conservatism, as they borrow from the répertoire of more liberal ideology and “provide alternative definitions of such core progressive concepts as ‘liberty,’ ‘progress,’ and ‘equality’” (see Neill, 2021: 14–15). Political parties with a predominantly conservative agenda, yet influenced by populist egalitarian ideals, may incorporate proposals in their programs that are not ordinarily aligned with the preservation of the existing order. Instead, these proposals aim to reduce economic inequalities (e.g., elimination of precarious employment) and subtly endorse certain forms of environmentalism (e.g., renewable energy policy). In this context only, FdI draws upon elements of a traditionally left-wing agenda. However, with respect to environmentalism, a form of environmentalist conservatism (or “green conservatism”) has already been conceptualized by various authors, ranging from Ludwig Klages to Sir Roger Scruton and Wendell Berry. In light of all the evidence, the fact that this final policy is mentioned only in the conclusive section (and final page) of the program suggests that although FdI’s ideological platform includes a responsible environmentalism, it is not one of the party’s main priorities—especially when compared to other issues such as immigration or the reduction of state bureaucracy, regulation, and taxation.
FdI’s 2022 Program
Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni and EU Commission President Ursula von der Leyen meet in Brussels, Belgium on November 03, 2022. Photo: Alexandros Michailidis.
The 2022 electoral program of FdI (titled “Ready to Lift Up Italy”[14]) is more comprehensive and detailed than its 2018 counterpart. It not only expands with fifteen additional sections but also includes a more extensive focus on foreign policy. Overall, what emerges from this program is the party’s “new” core ideology: a cultural and socio-economic conservatism that is more moderate, liberal, pragmatic, and Europhile (but also Atlanticist[15]), in contrast to the (slightly) Eurosceptic and populist tendencies of previous positions.
Taking this into account, the program begins with a section entirely dedicated to domestic policies aimed at supporting births and the family unit (FdI 2022, section 1). A quotation from former Pope John Paul II (who is appreciated in rightist circles for his anti-Communism) is included, stating that the family is a “foundational element of society” and what renders a nation truly sovereign (FdI 2022, section 1, par. 1). More specifically, FdI suggests progressively introducing the quoziente familiare—essentially a taxation system that primarily considers the number of individuals in the family unit (FdI 2022, section 1, par. 2).
Unlike in the 2018 program, there is no explicit reference to free nursery schools for economically disadvantaged families, although the “German model” of Tagesmutter is suggested as a concrete economic policy to address this matter (FdI 2022, section 1, par. 3). In any case, these are all textbook conservative policies, indirectly tied to the ideological conviction that there are forces beyond human control which exert substantial influence—both positive and negative—on the human condition. Among these forces are not only God, biology, and history, but also the family unit, which in many religious traditions is seen as a divine institution ordained by God and, from a biological standpoint, is an essential reproductive and child-rearing entity.
Sections “2” to “8” focus on a series of domestic economic policies: efficient usage of the National Recovery and Resilience Plan (NRRP), a fairer tax system to defend the purchasing power of Italians, support for the Italian entrepreneurial system, promotion of Made in Italy brands, support for the dignity of work, support for younger generations, and the “revitalization” of schools, universities, and research. All these policy proposals involve a combination of tax reductions (mainly for smaller businesses and large families), streamlining of bureaucracy, and targeted state support (FdI 2022, sections 2–8). In essence, they reflect a “socially conscious” conservative core ideology that blends elements of capitalism and laissez-faire economics with a more social-democratic outlook—one that also aims to moderately regulate competition and maintain a (small) welfare state (e.g., a social market economy).
Specifically, the aspects that stand out—and align with democratic conservatism—include ideas such as “combating tax evasion” (including that of big banks and big business, in a more populist tone), promoting youth employment (through apprenticeships, internships, and reforms to Higher Technical Institutes), deterring delocalization (e.g., offshoring), and strategically using the EU’s NRRP funds to enhance Italy’s competitiveness and administrative efficiency (FdI 2022, sections 3, 7, 4, 2, respectively).
More crucially, the EU project is not particularly questioned or criticized. On the contrary, FdI’s more recent program states that the party aims to accelerate European integration and sees the NRRP as an opportunity to achieve goals such as independence from Russian gas and energy security for Europe. Therefore, unlike most populist radical right parties (or PRRPs), the “new” conservative FdI believes that Italy’s future lies within the EU, rather than outside of it.
Section “9” of the program is pivotal for understanding the underlying ideology that informs FdI’s positions (FdI 2022, section 9). This section is particularly relevant because it highlights the party’s adherence to a (partial) welfare state, where “the state guarantees a web of social protection to sustain people who are fragile and struggle economically” (FdI 2022, section 9, par. 1). FdI also plans to support disadvantaged individuals through collaboration with the so-called third sector[16] and intermediate bodies, as the document states, “it is necessary to rediscover real national solidarity” (FdI 2022, section 9, par. 1). However, there is no specification as to whether FdI’s welfarism is directed at all individuals residing on Italian soil (including legal immigrants) or exclusively at Italian citizens.
In any case, FdI’s plan to abolish the reddito di cittadinanza (Basic Universal Income)—a policy criticized by some experts as an archetypical example of welfare chauvinism—does not appear to be accompanied by a proposal for a more inclusive welfare scheme, as advocated by liberal, progressive, and democratic-socialist parties (FdI 2022, section 9, par. 2). Nevertheless, FdI’s call for “a true social state that does not forget anybody” (FdI 2022, section 9) is informed and partly inspired by the political legacy of its predecessors, AN and MSI—both adherents to the historical destra sociale. The neofascist (yet pro-welfare) MSI was known for its corporatist and socialistic tendencies, although there is reason to believe that FdI does not endorse the same level of welfarism. What is clear, however, is that FdI’s appeal to a working-class, lower-middle-class, and middle-class, socially conservative (and often Catholic) electorate requires demonstrating a degree of sensitivity toward the needs of common people (see Angelucci, CISE, 2022).
Given this, even from an ideological standpoint, it has become evident that—while not strictly influenced by a leftist welfare state ideology—FdI advocates for the moral economics of distributism. This position supports widespread property ownership (similarly to British Thatcherites) and a robust social safety net in which smaller local communities play a major role, and state interventionism is employed to prevent both unfettered globalized capitalism and full-scale socialism. After all, such positions were already conceptualized by past conservative thinkers such as G.K. Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc.
Insofar as the economy is concerned, a degree of populism is also present in these programmatic directives, as it is evident that the volonté générale of the people can only be safeguarded when a state or government launches public housing plans, allocates funds for infrastructure development through “a system of public-private synergies,” provides incentives for the employment of people with disabilities, increases pensions, and offers other forms of social assistance (FdI 2022, section 9, par. 3). In the concluding paragraph of this section, it is also stated that there are plans to allocate additional public resources to the Italian civil service (FdI 2022, section 9, par. 3). Overall, there is a clear push to improve the living conditions of ordinary men and women. Therefore, there is evidence that FdI is not a fully anti-state conservative party and is not comparable to right-wing libertarian groups such as the UK and US libertarian parties.
The body of this program (sections “11” to “21”) contains a series of detailed policies ranging from healthcare reform and the defence of civil and social rights to the promotion of Italian culture (the new “Italian Renaissance”), tourism, investment, and agriculture—this last element is referred to as “a pillar of our nation” (FdI 2022, sections 11, 12, 13, 14, and 15, respectively). While not all these policies are directly relevant to an investigation concerning FdI’s ideological core, it is certain that the party’s positions continue to oscillate between classical liberalism and populistic conservatism in all of these areas.
For example, conservatism—focused on managing the changes to Western civilization brought by high-tech statism—emerges when they oppose the introduction of all instruments related to “mechanisms of mass digital control,” such as the scoring system or the “Social Credit System,” modelled after communist dictatorships like China (FdI 2022, section 12, par. 2). To be sure, right-wing parties across Europe and North America, including both moderate conservatives and PRR parties, voiced their criticism of what they saw as tools of “elite control” during the COVID-19 pandemic. Their objections covered a range of measures, from lockdown restrictions and mobile tracking apps (used to curb the virus’s spread) to compulsory vaccinations (Tasker, 2023; Wondreys & Mudde, 2022: 97).
Additionally, ideologically conservative features of the party—intended to regulate or mitigate societal change while preserving the biological essence of humanity—are evident when Meloni’s party rejects gay adoptions and surrogacy (FdI 2022, section 12, par. 3). However, these positions are tempered by more liberal stances (almost mimicking the language of progressives), such as the “contrasting of any form of discrimination” (with specific references to antisemitism, racism, and radical Islamism in another section) and the “support for paths of emancipation from cultural stereotypes that see women in a position of subalternity” (FdI 2022, section 12, par. 3). In this context, FdI also proposes harsher punishments for forced marriages and female genital mutilation—both practices that are rare but still present in certain cultures (FdI 2022, section 12, par. 3).
Other conservative proposals relate to “the promotion of Italian culture through the enhancement of cultural, artistic, historical, archaeological, ethnological, archival, and bibliographic heritage,” as well as “the valorization of the 2025 Jubilee…and of Christianity,” while also “combatting cancel culture and iconoclasm that threaten the symbols of our identity” (FdI 2022, section 12, pars. 2 and 4). All of the above are inherently conservative positions, as they are clearly influenced by an awareness and respect for the extra-human dimension, as well as classical history and aesthetics. Furthermore, a similar green conservatism present in the 2018 program is showcased in the 2022 edition through state policies designed to prepare Italy to adapt to climate change (which, unlike PRR actors, FdI does not deny), with the addition of an “environment-friendly” quote by traditionalist thinker José Ortega y Gasset (FdI 2022, section 16, par. 1).
Ultimately, in sections “21,” “22,” “24,” and “25,” the reformist vein of conservatism—still tinged with populist “pro-people” aspects—emerges (FdI 2022, sections 21–25). First and foremost, FdI outlines its policies against mass migration, framing them within a classical—and not necessarily authoritarian or anti-democratic—communitarian “law and order” approach. The program states that “security is the core of social coexistence and guarantees development and well-being” (FdI 2022, section 21, par. 1). However, its conflation of forms of “new criminality” with illegal immigration, without any demonstrable evidence, may suggest that—despite its democratic credentials—it engages in a form of “paranoid style” in politics (see Hofstadter, 1965), evoking resentment typical of culturally nativist parties.
To put it succinctly, FdI calls for complete control of Italy’s territorial and maritime borders, including the use of military force to stop boats carrying migrants, refugees, and asylum seekers if necessary (FdI 2022, section 21, par. 4). The party also proposes using hot spots in non-EU countries (e.g., Albania) to process migrants and determine their eligibility to enter Italy (FdI 2022, section 21, par. 4). Importantly, it legitimizes these policies by claiming alignment with the Schengen Agreement and international law, further asserting that the EU has requested such measures to combat mass migration (FdI 2022, section 21, par. 4). This reflects the party’s effort to avoid appearing either Eurosceptic or extremist. FdI also clearly states its support for the “social inclusion of legal immigrants” within the labor system (FdI 2022, section 21, par. 3).
Second, the party advocates for a major constitutional reform: the introduction of Presidenzialismo (FdI 2022, section 24). This Presidential system is proposed to transform Italy into a more people-centric democracy—where majority rule and the “general will of the people” supersede the power of checks and balances and the interests of institutional elites. According to FdI, this reform would enhance the country’s political stability and improve the efficiency of decision-making (FdI 2022, section 24, par. 1). Notably, this has long been a key policy for the party and has appeared in earlier electoral manifestos and programs.
Third, the final section of the program (“25”) outlines FdI’s vision of Italian foreign policy. The party proudly affirms Italy’s identity as the “cradle of Western civilization” and a “founding member of the European Union and the Atlantic Alliance” (FdI 2022, section 25, par. 1). Concurrently, FdI urges Italy to “return as a protagonist in Europe, after years of marginalization under left-wing governments” (FdI 2022, section 25, par. 1). These positions—particularly the first—stand in stark contrast to those of typical PRR actors. While FdI emphasizes a foreign policy centered on protecting national interest and defending the homeland, it also reaffirms its “utmost respect for international alliances” and support for NATO’s defense spending commitments (FdI 2022, section 25, par. 2).
Moreover, the document states that, alongside Italy’s international allies, FdI will continue to support Ukraine in the face of the Russian Federation’s invasion (FdI 2022, section 25, par. 2). Thus, unlike other right-wing or PRR parties in Europe (e.g., AfD, ANO, Fidesz, Lega), FdI appears to be fully committed to an Atlanticist (pro-USA, pro-UK) and Europeanist (pro-EU) liberal conservatism in the context of foreign alliances and policy. It is known that, while PRR parties have been apologetic toward Putin’s campaign in Ukraine and other political causes (as he is perceived as a bulwark against “Islamization” and progressive liberalism), center-right conservatives have unequivocally condemned his invasion of another sovereign state. Further evidence of this positioning shift can be observed in a paragraph (in the same foreign policy section) where it is stated that FdI wishes to uphold the classical and Judeo-Christian values of Europe alongside its “fundamental values of liberty, democracy, solidarity, subsidiarity, and justice” (FdI 2022, section 25, par. 3).
Discussion: Categorizing “the Uncategorizable”
Giorgia Meloni, leader of Brothers of Italy, Silvio Berlusconi, leader of Forza Italia and Matteo Salvini, leader of the League, attend a center-right coalition rally in Rome, Italy on March 01, 2018. Photo: Alessia Pierdomenico.
Preliminary Analytical Considerations
At this stage, following an in-depth discourse and manifesto analysis, it should be noted that there are five main reasons (although the fourth and fifth are related) that make FdI nearly impossible to categorize as a populist political party. First, as briefly discussed, the party entered the political scene—essentially in 2013—as a moderate and conservative force, one whose logo featured the slogan centrodestra nazionale (“National Centre-Right”). After its second National Congress in December 2017 in Trieste, FdI partially shifted toward a populist radical right (PRR) orientation, only to subsequently return to a less populist and more moderately conservative stance. Essentially, the years between the Tesi di Trieste and the beginning of the electoral campaign preceding the 2022 general election marked FdI’s “populist phase,” where Giorgia Meloni, competing with other more successful right-wing parties such as the Lega (led by the firebrand Matteo Salvini), was forced to radicalize her message to some extent. In hindsight, this choice was influenced by realpolitik rather than ideology, in a time immediately after the refugee crisis and prolonged economic stagnation, when a populist zeitgeist (see Mudde, 2024), accompanied by general fear, angst, and preoccupation (see Wittgenstein, 2001), consolidated itself in Europe as a direct result of EU policies, especially regarding austerity and its evasive responses to unemployment and mass immigration.
Second, remaining on the subject of political shifts, even today its positions are often blurred between three right-leaning ideologies. As the manifesto analysis particularly showed, these are— in order of importance—conservatism, (right-wing) populism, and classical liberalism[17]. However, in the 2022 program, populism plays a truly marginal role compared to the other two ideologies, and liberalism also plays a secondary role compared to traditional conservatism. To put it simply, conservatism is always the primary ingredient in FdI’s political cocktail.
Conservative ideology drives FdI’s stances on the economy, welfare, family life, the immigration-integration debate, law and order, transnational alliances, and the role of the state in general. All factors considered, even if conservatism dominates FdI’s agenda, the fact that socio-economic liberalism and populism are also present and sporadically influence some of the aspects mentioned above still makes it difficult for scholars to draw definitive conclusions about the party’s overall ideology. This also, in part, explains why certain scholars have argued that populism is “…a popular variation of conservative thinking which is situated in a triangle between anarchism, liberalism, and conservatism” (Priester, 2007: 9). Not to mention, the existence of different forms of conservatism, liberalism, and populism adds further complexity to the matter.
Third, one of the party’s important programs—crucial for the diachronic element of this analysis—almost entirely disregards foreign policy, except for vague proposals such as the Marshall Plan for Africa. This is problematic because a party’s or government’s foreign policy is objectively an extension of its domestic political philosophy and priorities, or as former US Vice President Hubert H. Humphrey contended: “foreign policy is really domestic policy with its hat on” (see Foyle, 2017). For obvious reasons, foreign policy positions naturally mirror a political actor’s core ideology. In other words, a political actor’s foreign policy is ultimately an extension of its domestic policy (Eksteen, 2019). PRR parties tend to be isolationist, Eurosceptic (sometimes anti-American, usually anti-NATO), and economically nationalist or protectionist. Furthermore, although not all populists have identical foreign policies (Verbeek & Zaslove, 2017), they are often against humanitarian and military intervention abroad but are open to dialogue and trade with authoritarian regimes (e.g., Russia).
With this in mind, it would have been easier to make the case that FdI was a full-blown PRR party in 2018 if its foreign policy had been explicitly presented in its program. However, even then, FdI’s populist-conservative positions on domestic policy were not sufficiently radical to automatically ascribe the PRR acronym to the party.
Fourth, FdI is essentially a personalist party (Ventura, 2022: 3), but there is reason to believe that Meloni—both as an individual politician and state leader—is ideologically more moderate than her party’s parliamentary “elite,” who mostly originate from the youth wings of the old MSI, are AN veterans, or have militated in other groupuscules of the Italian (especially Roman) extreme right. Specifically, unlike Senator La Russa and a few other MPs, Meloni has condemned Italian Fascism and its infamous laws against Jews and other minorities, explaining that the Italian Right “has consigned fascism to history for decades now” (Meloni as cited in Mattera, 2022). As shown, she has also occasionally spoken favourably of legal immigration and long-standing international alliances, positioning Italy within a liberal-democratic Western and European geopolitical framework.
Fifth, as the discourse analysis demonstrates, the rhetoric utilized by FdI’s representatives (sometimes including Meloni) makes the party appear more radical than it is in terms of policy. To put it succinctly, as the author Erik Jones (2023) has already pointed out, “Meloni’s policy agenda does not seem as frightening as her rhetoric” (Jones, 2023: 21). This is especially evident when the party’s leader addresses controversial issues such as the increase in illegal immigration, its links to NGOs operating in the Mediterranean Sea, and the legal funding from private donors supporting political agendas that conflict with those of the Italian Right. All these factors contribute to significant confusion among scholars attempting to categorize FdI—whether as conservative, populist, or part of the extreme right. In any case, what transpires from both the manifesto and discourse analysis is that conservatism occupies a more prominent position compared to the other two ideologies. The following section of this contribution will provide further clarification on why conservatism is at the heart of FdI’s political ideology.
Discussion
This study employed a methodological synthesis of discourse and manifesto analysis to identify the core ideology underlying FdI’s political agenda. To bridge the two qualitative methods, an ideological approach was applied, in which three distinct political ideologies – conservatism, populism, and right-wing extremism – were examined through the possible manifestation of their core characteristics (as minimally defined in the scholarly literature) within FdI’s public statements and party documents.
In terms of discourse, the data gathered shows that FdI (specifically Meloni, but also Baldelli, Delmastro Delle Vedove, La Russa, Lollobrigida, and Procaccini) uses antagonistic and inflammatory rhetoric. Much of this rhetoric belongs to the ideological repertoire of populism as it is embedded with anti-elitism and people-centrism, as well as an attachment to the vaguer concept of volonté générale/ “general will.” Examples of the former two have transpired when Meloni states that the interests of the people come before anything else and juxtaposes her commitment to popular interest with that of financial and technocratic elites. Examples of the latter have transpired when important FdI MEPs such as Procaccini have (discursively) highlighted the EU’s moral duty to focus on the concrete needs of citizens and leave behind any past ideological affiliation. More indirect examples of populist ideology have been gathered by compiling statements made in parliament by MPs (e.g., Baldelli) and by Meloni in one of her extended interviews, where, in typical populist fashion, they delegitimize and demonize their opponents, particularly those who disagree with them on the immigration question.
However, this populist rhetoric often presents itself alongside other (more or less moderate) conservative statements that emphasize the control of societal change and an awareness of an extra-human (and natural) dimension to individual agency. Examples of FdI’s conservatism in discourse may include Meloni’s quoting of Chesterton and Scruton, her inherently civilizationist statements (in favor of the West and Christianity), her traditionalist pro-family messages, and her commitment to defending the Italian border. The border is considered something sacred within the collective imaginary and certainly beyond the selfish interests of the individual.
With that in mind, a much more populistic (or even “extremist”) form of conservatism, tainted by cultural nativism and holistic nationalism—which most of FdI’s opponents find pathological—has been found in a statement made by Lollobrigida in support of increasing the birthrate among autochthonous Italians. Accordingly, Italians are said to possess particular biological, cultural, and linguistic characteristics. Notwithstanding, the somewhat blurry threshold that exists between right-wing populism and right-wing extremism is only crossed by FdI’s Delmastro Delle Vedove MP, who has discussed punishment for offenders in deeply disturbing authoritarian and anti-democratic terms. However, this example of extreme right ideology in discourse is not sufficient to argue that the party is extremist per se, as these core concepts of right-wing extremism did not replicate in the manifesto analysis. Given that FdI’s public discourse includes not only elements of conservatism and populism—more precisely, a form of populist conservatism—but also, albeit infrequently, traits associated with a more authoritarian and nationalist extreme right, it can be argued that the party adopts a more radical stance in its rhetoric.
Despite all of this, it is the manifesto analysis that makes it clearer what core ideology drives FdI’s politics. By observing the data gathered from the 2018 and 2022 programs, it can be deduced that FdI is, overall, a (right-wing) conservative party, as there are undeniably more core concepts of conservatism than populism throughout. For example, typically conservative (pro-market, small-government) anti-bureaucracy and anti-tax measures (e.g. flat tax, no tax area) were found in both programs. Although FdI’s economic neoliberalism (which is compatible with cultural conservatism) is balanced with a more communitarian and “compassionate” populist conservatism that allows for a “Fiscal Peace” between small- and medium-sized entrepreneurs or families and the Italian state. The message FdI wants to convey is that it envisions a small but efficient state that trusts its people and protects them by adapting to their temporary economic necessities.
Also, in its 2022 program, FdI’s “social Right” and social market economy inclination comes to the fore increasingly compared to the 2018 program, simply because the former is more detailed and exhaustive. Even so, these socially conscious and partially populist and statist measures (e.g. third-sector support, increase of pensions, quoziente familiare, welfare reforms) coexist with more liberal-capitalist and laissez-faire positions on the economy. From a purely economic perspective, there was no real change in FdI’s position between 2018 and 2022. That said, the 2022 manifesto is more liberal (though not fully neoliberal in the financial sense) on social issues and foreign policy—as already stated, the latter is essentially nonexistent in the 2018 program.
Similarly, an “unofficial” defining element of contemporary populism, Euroscepticism, is not consistently present in either of the programs. Perhaps a very soft form of Euroscepticism (sometimes referred to as Euro-criticism) is found in the older program (2018), as the party calls for fewer regulatory/bureaucratic constraints from the EU and for the revision of some of its treaties. However, both elements largely disappear by the time the 2022 program is drafted, and FdI even correlates the new EU funds (NRRP) with an opportunity for growth and a means to distance European economies from Russia’s. Another trait correlated with the PRR, protectionism (see Loch, 2021: 79), is only briefly touched upon in one 2022 program policy, which supports tariffs to prevent the importation of lower-quality products (e.g. Italian Sounding) that do not meet EU health and safety standards. Not to mention, in the more recent document, the party’s idea of sovereignty or sovereignism is so abstract and vague (to the point that FdI argues the family unit fully represents this concept) that it cannot be directly correlated with a populist Euroscepticism.
In both electoral programs, conservative concepts—such as the will to manage or prevent societal alterations and the idea that there is an extra-human dimension to individual agency (as well as forces of nature that define a people)—take precedence over populist anti-elitism and people-centrism. Purely populist positions, inspired by anti-elitism and direct democracy—such as the reduction of MPs (2018 program), the “imperative mandate” (2018 program), and the direct election of the President (2018 and 2022)—do not bear the same weight in FdI’s agenda as the impulse to conserve and uphold tradition. FdI not only believes that a dangerous form of progress will alter the dynamics of traditional society for the worse, through the introduction of supposedly unnatural or artificial practices such as gay marriage, surrogacy, and high-tech (Chinese-modeled) social credit systems, but also that the spiritual and natural identity of the nation is in danger due to mass immigration. Conversely, both in 2018 and in 2022—but especially in the latter—FdI reconciles these traditional conservative stances with more liberal ones, spanning from its support for anti-racism, gender equality, renewable energy, secure (not precarious) employment, civil unions, and social aid for the most disadvantaged people.
Conclusion
Giorgia Meloni, Italy’s prime minister, reacts during a handover ceremony at Chigi Palace in Rome, Italy on October 23, 2022. Photo: Alessia Pierdomenico.
This study has analyzed FdI’s discourse and policy positions, showing that while the party cannot, under any circumstances, be classified as extreme right—given the absence or inconsistency of core ideological elements—it also cannot be accurately characterized as a full-blown populist party. Whereas FdI clearly exhibits populist discursive traits, the core features of populism (anti-elitism, people-centrism, volonté générale) do not play a leading role in its electoral programs, and it is, at best, debatable whether they do so in its broader discourse. In fact, even when anti-elitism and people-centrism do (sporadically) manifest, they are largely disconnected from a broader populist weltanschauung in which the will of the people is paramount and influences every aspect of policy within an electoral program. By contrast, conservatism—and its key concepts—plays a key role in defining FdI’s agenda between 2018 and 2022. The management of societal change, followed by an awareness of an extra-human dimension to individual agency, lies at the very heart of FdI’s programs, which certainly offer a window into the party’s political ideology.
FdI is a conservative party, with conservatism serving as the primary force behind its policy agenda and likely its discourse as well. However, given that populism still plays a marginal role—particularly in framing the party’s language against elites—it is also accurate to describe FdI as a “populist-Conservative” party, where populism functions as a secondary ideological layer. This is substantially different from labeling FdI as a “conservative-Populist” or “radical-right populist” party, which would imply that conservatism is either peripheral or absent—an interpretation that does not align with the party’s actual positions. Furthermore, FdI’s relatively liberal stances on certain domestic policy issues (such as civil rights concerning women, people from the gay community, and legal immigrants), as well as its Atlanticist and pro-European foreign policy, indicate that while the party remains rooted in traditional conservatism, it is gradually undertaking a trajectory toward liberal conservatism.
Future studies could adopt a more comparative approach, analysing FdI’s stances alongside other groups from its party family, which would mainly be found in the European Conservatives and Reformists Party (ECR) (e.g. Czech Republic’s ODS or Poland’s PiS). Alternatively, comparisons could be drawn with more radical right-wing organizations, such as the Lega or AfD, to see where the commonalities between conservatism and radical-right populism or right-wing extremism reside, if there are any. Naturally, political ideologies can also be studied from a demand-side perspective, and accurate analysis of FdI’s rising electoral base can tell us more about this party’s future trajectory. Current trends suggest a movement toward the political center, rather than a drift toward the extremes.
(*) DR. AMEDEO VARRIALEearned his Ph.D. from the University of East London in March 2024. His research interests focus on contemporary populism and nationalism. During his academic career, Dr. Varriale contributed as a research assistant to the development of a significant textbook project on the global resurgence of nationalism, titled“The New Nationalism in America and Beyond,” co-authored by Robert Schertzer and Eric Taylor Woods. He has written for ECPS before but has also been published by other academic outlets ranging from the Journal of Dialogue Studies to UEL’s Crossing Conceptual Boundaries. Currently, he is also an “affiliated researcher” for the Centre for the Study of Global Nationalisms (CSGN).
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Footnotes
[1] In addition to the “borderline cases” (mentioned in this work’s section discussing the extreme right), some of the parties belonging to the Europe of Sovereign Nations (ESN) group (active in the European Union’s Parliament) may require a more nuanced analysis as they are not easily categorizable.
[2] This reference primarily pertains to the large-scale deregulation and privatization of state-owned industries, as well as the creation of a “new middle class” through an increase in home ownership, that occurred during both tenures.
[3] Daniele Albertazzi and Duncan McDonnell (2015) have included the party founded by the Italian tycoon Berlusconi in their study of “populists in power”, however, they have also hinted that it is reasonable for scholars to classify this is a center-right or classical liberal party, rather than a strictly populist one (see Albertazzi and McDonnell, 2015: 17-33). Ultimately, the nature of this party remains matter of ongoing contention.
[4]Groupement de Recherche et d’Études pour la Civilisation Européenne (GRECE)
[5] The only interview used to gather data for analysis is the one published by Rizzoli in book form in 2023, where Giorgia Meloni was interviewed by a famous Italian journalist – Alessandro Sallusti. Many distinct subjects are touched upon during this interview, thus, it is unquestionably the source that allows the most comprehensive understanding of Meloni’s (and FdI’s) political views.
[6] Essentially, this means addressing some of the shortcomings of liberalism and especially economic neoliberalism (e.g. wage inequality, displacement of labor) without questioning or undermining other aspects, such as the rule of law.
[7]Atreju is an annual kermess form of event organized by FdI and its youth wing where political figures who oppose each other’s views are given the opportunity to debate in a cordial, civil and somewhat informal context.
[8] Mudde specifically defines nativism as “an ideology, which holds that states should be inhabited exclusively by members of the native group (‘the nation’) and that nonnative elements (persons and ideas) are fundamentally threatening to the homogenous nation-state” (Mudde, 2007: 19).
[9] A reportage made public in the summer of 2024 by the Italian news outlet fanpage.it (also specialized investigative journalism undercover) proved there have been neofascist infiltrations among FdI’s youth wing (Gioventù Nazionale) at an internal level (see fanpage.it, YouTube, June 26, 2024).
[10] Original title: Un Programma Per L’Italia: Per La Crescita, La Sicurezza, Le Famiglie e La Piena Occupazione.
[11] For this concept, refer to Barry Buzan and Ole Waever (2009).
[12] See E.J. Hobsbawm (1990).
[13] For examples of how populism and direct democracy relate to each other, see Mohrenberg et al. (2019).
[14] Original title: (Il programma) Pronti a risollevare l’Italia.
[15] Unsurprisingly, as someone devoted to the preservation and enhancement of Italy’s (and Europe’s) relationship with the USA (both during the Joe Biden and Trump terms) Meloni has been conferred the “Global Citizen Award” by the Atlantic Council in New York City in September 2024 (see Vista AgenziaTelevisiva Nazionale, 2024; see also Fortuna and Genovese, 2025).
[16] In the Italian context this is not finance-banking (like in certain countries of the Anglosphere) but a reference to the voluntary work sector (charities, churches, etc.).
[17] While foreign scholars may struggle to accept Meloni’s new liberal image, some Italian journalists have described her as undergoing a “political metamorphosis” (e.g. Cangini, 2022) or as adopting (a typically radical right) statist stance with allies and a liberal anti-statist one with opponents (e.g. Muratore, 2023).
