Classic fascism emerged as a reaction to instability: economic collapse, national humiliation, and fear of social change. It sought absolute state control, glorified war, and aimed to dissolve the individual into a unified national body. Mussolini’s fascism was rooted in statism and militarism, with the corporate state controlling the economy while still allowing private ownership. Hitler’s Nazism, though influenced by Mussolini, was built on racial purity, antisemitism, and genocidal expansionism.

Fascism was never a rigid doctrine. It was always opportunistic, adapting to circumstances. Modern neo-fascist movements share its core DNA but have evolved. They do not openly abolish democracy. They hollow it out from within. Rather than dissolving capitalism into a corporatist state, they embrace the oligarchy, securing wealth and power for loyalists while maintaining populist rhetoric. They do not need state-backed paramilitaries. They use social media to mobilize extremists and delegitimize institutions.

Despite regional variations, modern authoritarian movements share key points of convergence. Hyper-nationalism, authoritarianism, economic opportunism, and scapegoating remain central themes. Whether in Trump’s “America First,” Modi’s Hindu nationalism, Netanyahu’s expansionist Zionism, or European anti-immigrant politics, the goal is to define the nation by excluding outsiders. Leaders seek absolute power but preserve democratic facades, undermining courts, media, and elections rather than outlawing them outright. Unlike classic fascism, which aimed for corporatist control, modern movements favour crony capitalism and economic nationalism, securing wealth for a select elite. While classic fascism targeted political opponents, modern movements often cast themselves as victims of the “deep state,” global elites, or leftist conspiracies.

And then, Russia. Once the Soviet Union’s great enemy, fascism now thrives there. Putin has absorbed its rhetoric, its militarism, its glorification of national destiny. His war is waged not just against Ukraine but against the very idea of liberal democracy, with useful fools in the West still treating him as a counterweight to the United States. In Portugal, the Communist Party clings to Cold War thinking, refusing to condemn him outright, as if the past had not inverted itself entirely.

The intent remains the same: power without constraint, loyalty without dissent, and the erasure of opposition. Whether through lawfare, propaganda, or violence, the goal is to reshape society to serve an authoritarian ideal.

The Roman salute, a raised arm gesture, was adopted by Mussolini as a fabricated link to imperial Rome, reinforcing his vision of Italy’s return to dominance. Hitler later appropriated it, giving it new meaning as an oath of racial and ideological allegiance. Today, it has become a flexible symbol of authoritarian defiance. It is no longer just a Nazi reference but a deliberate challenge to liberal democracy. Elon Musk’s gesture at Trump’s second inauguration was defended as unintentional, yet it fed into a far-right ecosystem eager for symbols of legitimacy. Arruda’s raised arm in the Portuguese Parliament underscores how this gesture re-emerges in far-right spaces, not as a mistake but as a signal—to supporters and opponents alike.

This is not nostalgia. The salute, like modern fascism itself, is adaptable, ironic, and defiant. It tests boundaries. Those who use it seek plausible deniability, but the intent is clear: to normalize authoritarian aesthetics, undermine democratic norms, and push the Overton window further.

The Roman salute and Nazi references serve as both a test and an exercise in shifting public perception. A decade ago, such gestures would have been immediately condemned. Today, public figures can perform them, sparking debate over whether they were intentional or harmless. Even debating whether it was “really” a Nazi salute shifts the Overton window, making far-right symbolism a topic of mainstream conversation instead of instant rejection.

The truth is, it is never just a joke or just a symbol. It is a warning. It is a test. It is a provocation. It is a trap. It is a statement of intent.

So, times like these call not only for collective action but for individual courage in every quiet refusal, every principled stand, and every gesture that says: not this time.