Fear, Cruelty, and the Character Test of Our Generation of Americans

Three Things Each of Us Can Do This Memorial Day

This is the third in an eight-part series on the lessons I’ve learned confronting autocrats over the past twenty-five years. From post-Soviet capitals to American battlegrounds, I’ve seen how authoritarianism grows — and how democracy survives.

One of the most dangerous mistakes people make is believing that authoritarianism has a look, a language, or a region. It doesn’t. I’ve worked in over 40 countries, across five continents, and I’ve sat across the table from autocrats or their enablers in Africa, Asia, Latin America, and the Middle East — not just Eastern Europe. And while their tactics are shaped by context, their personalities remain essentially the same.

Photo by S Turby on Unsplash

They are ruled by fear — and obsessed with instilling it in others. They believe in dominance, not dialogue. They are narcissists, though rarely charming. They believe they alone can fix things, and everyone else is either a threat or a pawn.

They nurse grievances — real or manufactured — and use those grievances to build loyalty through victimhood. They demand fealty over competence. Loyalty over truth. They rewrite history to serve their image. And when the facts don’t fit, they attack the facts.

They are paranoid. They see plots everywhere. And in their mind, the worst thing you can do isn’t lie to them — it’s embarrass them.

This playbook isn’t new. And it doesn’t belong to one person. It’s rooted in something deeper and darker — not just in those who lead, but in those who follow.

Because the truth is, what we’re witnessing isn’t just a crisis of leadership. It’s a crisis of character in far to many of us.

When cruelty becomes policy and vengeance becomes a platform, that doesn’t just say something about a politician. It says something about the people cheering them on. It says something about what we’ve normalized — and what we’ve excused.

Authoritarianism requires followers. It thrives not only on fear, but on permission to be afraid and to spread your fears to others. And right now, far too many are giving it.

So the real question isn’t “What do the authoritarians want?” It’s “What does it say about us that so many want what he offers?”

Because if we define strength by cruelty, and patriotism by exclusion, and freedom by who we get to hurt — then we’re not resisting authoritarianism. We’re inviting it.

That’s what we have to confront.

And on this Memorial Day, it’s worth asking: what would those who died for American ideals think of what we’re doing with them?

I don’t have all the answers. But here are three things we can each choose to do today — not as partisans, but as humans and as Americans:

1. Listen with generosity. Find someone who sees the world differently, and instead of debating, ask them to tell you why. Then really listen. Empathy isn’t weakness. It’s the start of any real strength.

2. Show small courage. Speak up. Push back. Be the person who doesn’t laugh at the cruel joke. Who doesn’t share the conspiracy theory on social media. Who reminds others — gently or forcefully — that decency still matters and that so many Americans gave their lives not for us to tear each other down, but to lift each other up.

3. Remember we belong to each other. Visit a cemetery. Call a friend you’ve drifted from. Do something that reconnects you to the idea that our freedoms aren’t abstractions — they’re responsibilities we hold in common.

Authoritarianism preys on isolation and despair. Hope begins when we choose each other.

Today is a good day to start.