All Roads Lead to Authoritarianism

It is worse than you think — all roads lead to authoritarianism. But first, we must be clear about what that means. Every political system carries its own version of authoritarianism, shaped by culture and institutions. America is no exception. What makes the American version unique is how easily it hides behind the language of freedom, exceptionalism, and democratic ritual — allowing the slow erosion of laws and norms to masquerade as liberty itself.

Authoritarianism is a system where power concentrates in the hands of a leader or small elite, where freedoms shrink, and dissent is stifled. It thrives through media control, legal manipulation, suppression of opposition, and weakening institutional checks — all in service of holding power.

This impulse was present at America’s founding. The Founders, though they rejected monarchy, were authoritarian by modern standards. They designed a system to preserve power for a narrow class of white, landowning men — fearing true popular democracy. The Senate, Electoral College, limited suffrage, and structures of slavery and dispossession were not accidental — they were built to concentrate power.

This foundational instinct — to consolidate control through land, wealth, and law — echoes through American history. It is this tension that Yellowstone captures, where the Dutton family’s battle for land reflects an old American authoritarian reflex. Their fight is not simply about property; it is about dominance in a system built for those who seize and defend it. The show exposes a deeper truth: land and law in America often bend to those with power.

At its heart, this is America’s oldest conflict: the majority rabble versus the capitalist class. Consider Daniel Shays — a veteran of the Revolution — who rose against debt and elite control, only to be crushed by the republic he helped create. America’s authoritarian tendencies do not stem from foreign kings. They rise from within, from the constant struggle between those who fight for democracy and those who seek to own it.

That battle never ended. It evolved. Today’s authoritarian threats wear new faces, but the pattern remains: entrenched wealth and power capturing the machinery of government, cloaked in the banners of populism, patriotism, or public safety. Trump is not the source of this danger — he is merely the face of it. A flashing nameplate. The body of this Frankenstein was stitched together long ago — from racial hierarchy, economic inequality, neoliberal policy, and captured institutions. Trump gave the beast a face and voice, but the deeper current runs through both parties, through boardrooms, media empires, and the dark corners of law where power rewrites the rules.

That is what we face now: a fully animated authoritarian machine. It feeds on grievance, fear, and division. It weaponizes democracy’s tools against the people they were meant to serve. Its strength comes from both visible assaults — on voting rights, on history, on public safety — and quieter ones: judicial capture, corporate consolidation, normalization of corruption. If we mistake the head for the threat, the body will keep growing in the shadows.

We must speak plainly: the current Republican nominee is a convicted felon. In a healthy democracy, this would be disqualifying. In ours, it is a rallying cry for millions. This is not about one man’s crimes; it is about a system where lawlessness is tolerated — even celebrated — when it serves authoritarian ends. When a convicted felon can lead a major party, threaten judges, and promise vengeance, the mask has fallen. The monster now marches in the open.

The absurdity cannot be overstated. A man who mocked a disabled reporter, called Mexican immigrants “rapists,” and launched a presidential run as a marketing stunt — is now the president of the United States. In any just system, he would be stripped of power. Instead, he holds it. That is the monster we face.

In his first term, he was impeached twice — first for extorting a foreign government, then for inciting insurrection. He told supporters he could "stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody" and not lose voters — then spent four years proving it. Guardrails fell. Elections were undermined. Political violence was emboldened. The voters denied him a second term. The system convicted him. Yet millions still chose him, unwilling to support any woman, or any alternative. The head of the monster remains — now more brazen than before.

And in his second term, freed from restraint, the authoritarian project advances. He has stacked government with loyalists, threatened political opponents, and promised retribution. He pardoned those convicted for January 6th — rewarding political violence. He used riots sparked by ICE raids to deploy federal troops against dissent. He has targeted cultural institutions, turning them into monuments to his brand. Key agencies — the FBI, Health, Education — are now helmed by unqualified loyalists. These appointments are not for governance; they are for control. This is no accident. It is the architecture of authoritarianism: reward loyalty, punish dissent, rewrite institutions, pacify the masses while elite control locks in.

The irony is staggering. This man rewrote the tax code to benefit the rich — and now prepares to pass a “big, beautiful bill” under the guise of populism. But beneath the slogans, the outcome is unchanged: wealth will flow upward. The masses will be offered token relief and spectacle — bread and circus — while the capitalist class entrenches its grip. Hollow populism deepening inequality is not a contradiction; it is the plan.

The threat to arrest Governor Newsom exposes the deep hypocrisy at this project’s core. Trump champions "states’ rights" to block civil protections — but tramples them when a governor opposes him. One moment, California must submit to ICE raids; the next, it is denied the right to manage its own streets. This is not federalism — it is raw power politics. When loyalty, not law, determines whose autonomy is respected, American federalism collapses.

All roads lead to authoritarianism. It does not matter the topic — immigration, policing, education, public health, taxation, protest. In each case, the road bends toward the erosion of democratic principles for the sake of empowering the few. The language may change, the justifications may shift, but the destination remains: a system where loyalty eclipses law, dissent is punished, and power concentrates in the hands of those willing to wield it without restraint.

This Frankenstein is on the move. Its parts are newly oiled, running faster. Its architects search for the next excuse to dismantle democracy, all to serve a ruling class of men like Trump. Whatever you think of his politics, consider the character: an unreliable narrator placed at the helm of the very system he despises. It is as if a man who resents the land is put in charge of the ranch — or a fox given the key to the henhouse, with the farmer calling it "culling" for the good of the flock. A man who scorns democratic norms now holds the power to reshape them — under the lie that he is saving them.

That is American authoritarianism. Not a foreign ideology imposed from outside, but a homegrown impulse: to hand power to those who would dismantle democracy from within, under the comforting lie that they are preserving it.