Last week, I noticed a provocative poster in a pub window on the High Street and stopped to read it despite my phone’s shrill storm warning. It showed a stick figure throwing a swastika into a bin, along with the words: Not in our streets. Stand up! I walk past this old pub every day, but this poster was new.
At the risk of revisiting an arguably over-reported moment, Elon Musk – the world’s richest and perhaps most polarising man – made headlines earlier this month by straightening his right arm above his head in a gesture resembling a fascist salute, during President Trump’s inauguration. The public erupted accordingly, with many accusing him of promulgating neo-fascism and others defending his actions as a confused show of respect to Trump loyalists.
What was his true intention? It is hard to say for certain, though he did little to distance himself from accusations of right-wing extremism when he made a video-link appearance at a German AfD party conference just days later. Was the pub’s poster a direct response to his gesture? Again, it is hard to know. I didn’t ask the bartenders.
Anti-fascist sentiment is strong in Europe, where the ideology’s footprint is fresh and soaked in blood. We are only a few generations removed from World War II when Hitler and Mussolini’s Axis powers ravaged the continent. In response to the devastation caused by these regimes, fascism as an ideology has since been purposefully stigmatised in Western culture, through the censorship of its principles and imagery, in line with the development of Western liberalism.
Consider your own reaction to the swastika, and you’ll grasp the depth of this stigmatisation. From an early age, we learn that certain symbols, gestures, and words are not just controversial but outright unacceptable—even before we fully understand why. I do not believe the poster would have caught my eye were this not the case.
Despite this stigmatisation, the growing traction of far-right policies in Europe suggests a shift toward right-wing extremism—and, in some cases, neo-fascism. Italy’s Prime Minister, Giorgia Meloni, has even cited Mussolini as a personal idol, underscoring the persistence of his ideological shadow.
But regardless of whether you agree with it or not, fascist imagery is still culturally and socially outlawed in the west and Musk’s gesture was treated as a highly volatile issue. The implications of one of the world’s richest individuals endorsing such a violent ideology were sinister and cause for great concern, particularly in an America that is still bracing for impact after Trump’s re-election. Equally sinister, however, was the speed with which his initially outrageous gesture was normalised – a phenomenon best understood through its online treatment.
A quick word on the internet. For many, access to the internet opens up the, otherwise locked, doors of politics. Online news outlets provide round-the-clock global coverage; YouTube videos break down political issues; podcasts voice varying opinions on current affairs, and social media sites give individuals a platform to express their personal view. Politics has perhaps never been so accessible, thanks largely to the internet.
The internet’s enormous number of users as well as it perceived lack of real-life consequence have encouraged a previously unseen level of individual expression – with many viewing platforms like X as oases of free speech. This is one of the internet’s most celebrated features but can also quickly lead to frivolous treatment of serious issues. In this case, the internet’s readiness to toy with previously stigmatised terms and accusations downplayed Musk’s behaviour.
Initially, the story was reported by news outlets and treated as a highly sensitive issue. Many of these outlets, including The Guardian, recognised the fascist appearance of the salute and addressed the seriousness of this resemblance.
The issue then fell into the hands of the public, as all issues do, becoming an online talking point. Here, a steady process of desensitisation occurred, as the historically censored principles and imagery of fascism were discussed openly. This kind of unrestricted debate upholds the democratic principles of pluralism and freedom of expression but removes the stigma – which was in this case developed intentionally – around fascist ideology. Where accusations of fascism had previously been restricted to extreme behaviours, they were now thrown online like snowballs.
This cultural assimilation is not a new phenomenon and is not necessarily unique to the internet. People have always made unsavoury accusations. The rate and frequency with which these accusations can now be made is, however, directly associated with the ease of online communication. There are no safeguards that prevents hundreds of people accusing Musk of being a fascist at the same time on X, for example, meaning the poignancy of the accusation is lost regardless of its truth.
Musk used this effect to his advantage in his personal response to the public’s outrage. He took to X and posted: ‘The ‘Everyone is Hitler’ attack is sooo tired.’
Frankly, they need better dirty tricks.
— Elon Musk (@elonmusk) January 21, 2025
The “everyone is Hitler” attack is sooo tired 😴 https://t.co/9fIqS5mWA0
Previously, this response would have been a laughably out-of-touch and weak rebuttal. Now, however, there is a certain degree of truth to his response, as the attack has indeed been levied countless times online. There are likely thousands of posts and articles that liken him to the German dictator, which he could use to evidence this. Musk is aware of this and uses their volume to trivialise the attack and, therefore, his own behaviour, because if everyone makes the same accusation, no one makes an accusation.
After the significance of Musk’s gesture was reduced through online discussion, the image entered online meme culture, and its sensitivity died an immediate death. Instagram was flooded overnight with jokey images of his face superimposed onto that of Hitler, and the X logo replaced the swastika in the middle of the Nazi party’s red flag. Fascism, once a serious accusation, had now become the punchline of countless online jokes.
But shouldn’t we be able to take a joke? Well; yes, in most cases. There is certainly value in humour as a means to tackle issues, scaling them down to avoid the only alternatives of fear and pain. Mark Twain recognised this and identified humour as ‘mankind’s greatest blessing’, and he was American.
But it is not a question of how funny these memes are, even if they condemn his actions. It is whether the seriousness of the issue demands a level of sensitivity and protection that humour does not afford. I do not believe that sensitive issues should be totally out-of-bounds, not by any measure, but every post that makes light of Musk’s salute encourages people to forget its seriousness – contributing to its overall trivialisation. Making an issue acceptable as a joke makes it less and less objectionable.
The internet is a valuable tool of expression that can be used to call out offensive, intolerant behaviour, but there is an exceptionally fine line between addressing serious issues and unintentionally normalising them. It is equally impactful to allow an issue to lose its significance as it is to identify it in the first place.
There does not appear to be a clear answer to this problem. People talk. People talk online. Some actions need to be called out. That said, we must understand how easy it is normalise issues online and how we can unintentionally excuse individuals from their unacceptable behaviour. Would it have been acceptable for the pub to put up a swastika-bearing poster before Musk’s actions allowed fascism to re-enter the public debate?
Musk himself has come away from the controversy relatively unscathed and the poster is still on display.
4th-year Scots Law
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