…In the brief chapter that follows the suggestion to
“think up your own way of speaking”, Snyder,
a professor of history at Yale, dwells on the insights of Victor
Klemperer, the great Jewish philologist who studied the ways that the Nazis
commandeered language before they commandeered everything else. Klemperer noted
how Hitler’s language explicitly undermined all and any opposition. “‘The
people’ always meant some people and not others… encounters were always
‘struggles’ and any attempt by free people to understand the world in a
different way was ‘defamation’ of the leader.”
Snyder does not name America’s 45th president in the course
of this book, but the nascent administration is never far from his thoughts.
Throughout his march to power, Trump used a narrowing of language in an
identical way to that which Klemperer described, and has emphasized his
populist project by the subordination of word to image.
This is a presidency being shaped by the techniques and tone
of television and Twitter and YouTube, rather than the progression of rational
argument through sentence and paragraph. Trump’s admission that he never
reads a book all the way through is symptomatic of his rhetorical
style. He offers a “highly constrained [language] to starve the public of the
concepts needed to think about the past, present and future”,
Snyder argues. In the president’s frame of reference events
are only ever bad or sad or mad. With his Dr Seuss vocabulary, he can present
the world as a place of simplistic oppositions, stripped of nuance.
Snyder’s beautifully weighted book is the perfect clear-eyed
antidote to that deliberate philistinism (“I love the poorly educated”, as
Trump chillingly observed). Always measured in their observation, these 128
pages are a brief primer in every important thing we might have learned from
the history of the last century, and all that we appear to have forgotten.
Snyder is ideally placed to distil those urgent lessons. His
landmark 2010 book, Bloodlands,
examined the lasting effects of the totalitarian regimes of the Third Reich and
of Stalin’s Russia on the places in which they clashed most devastatingly:
Poland, Belarus, Ukraine and the Baltic states. When he suggests “do not obey
in advance” or “be calm when the unthinkable arrives” or “be wary of
paramilitaries” or “make eye contact and small talk”, he deftly brings to bear
all that he knows about the trajectory of tyranny and the mechanisms of
resistance.
Bloodlands won Snyder the Hannah Arendt prize for political
thought, and this book makes Arendt’s analysis of fascism a touchstone. Snyder
reminds you, for example, that the definition of totalitarianism that Arendt
offered was not the creation of an all-powerful state, but “the erasure of the
difference between public and private life”. We are free, Snyder notes, “only
insofar as we exercise control over what people know about us and how they come
to know it”.
The manner in which western populations have broadly accepted
the fact of surveillance, and willingly surrendered their identities to social
media, has already gone a long way to removing that dividing line between
public and private. Snyder counsels extreme caution in rubbing out that
distinction further. He calls for a “corporeal politics”, voting with paper
ballots that can be counted and recounted; face-to-face interaction rather than
email, marching not online petitioning: “Power wants your body softening in
your chair and your emotions dissipating on a screen. Get outside. Put your
body in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people.”
In a time when authority seeks to destroy the legitimacy of
facts he invokes at various points Václav Havel’s
philosophy of “living in truth”, of keeping a sacred space for what you can
prove to be true and for truth-tellers. Self-deception becomes first a
seductive habit and then a state of mind. That progression is how tyrannies
spread.
To prove this point, Snyder offers reminders, if reminders
are needed, of just how quickly wave after wave of unacceptable behavior became
normalized on the Trump campaign trail. How, for example, we got used to the
fact that “a protester would first be greeted with boos, then with frenetic
cries of ‘USA’ and then be forced to leave the rally” not by federal police but
by the candidate’s private security detail. “Isn’t this more fun than a regular
boring rally?” Trump asked, pushing the idea of political violence. “To me,
it’s fun.”
It is salutary to be reminded that the eastern European
media, and journalists from Ukraine, called the election much more accurately
than the Washington press corps. They had seen this behavior up close before,
and they knew where it led.
There will no doubt be those who dismiss as hysterical the
parallels that Snyder draws between the path to power of the Trump
administration and that of the Third Reich. He himself expresses sincere
hope that the lessons in resistance he offers will either not all be needed, or
that they will collectively have the desired effect of check and balance.
He gives his fellow Americans the following warning, however:
“We are no wiser than the Europeans who saw democracy yield to fascism, Nazism,
or communism in the last century. Our one advantage is that we might learn from
their experience…” You will read no more relevant field guide to that wisdom
than this book.
Book Review by Tim Adams
On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century by
Timothy Snyder is published by Bodley Head (£8.99). To order a copy for £7.64
go to bookshop.theguardian.com or
call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over £10, online orders only. Phone orders
min p&p of £1.99
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