What would you do if democracy was being dismantled before your eyes? Whatever you’re doing right now | Andy Beckett

HHow would you behave if your democracy was dismantled? In most Western countries, this used to be an academic question. Societies where this process had occurred, such as Germany in the 1930s, seemed increasingly distant. The contrasting ways in which people responded to authoritarianism and autocracy, both politically and in their daily lives, while darkly fascinating and important to study and remember, seemed increasingly irrelevant at present.

No more. Illiberal populism has spread across the world, either challenging power or entrenching itself in power, from Argentina to Italy, from France to Indonesia, from Hungary to Britain. But perhaps the most significant example of a relatively free and pluralistic society and political system transforming into something very different remains the United States, nine months into Donald Trump’s second term.

As is often the case, the United States demonstrates what the future could be for much of the world. Immigrant purges, centralization of power, suppression of dissent, rewarding loyal oligarchs, and disregard for truth and law are not unique. Even governments that present themselves as alternatives to populism, such as that of Keir Starmer, increasingly share some of its characteristics, such as a performative harshness towards asylum seekers. Yet more than three years into Trump’s frenetic presidency, and perhaps more — if he can overcome the constitutional and electoral hurdles to a third term — life under him already offers the most troubling picture of a democracy under siege yet.

Partly because populism is divisive – pitting “the people” against their supposed enemies – and partly because Trump is so unstable, the national impact of his regime is highly uneven. The same goes for how different groups and individuals react to his actions. These complex, often disturbing patterns are particularly evident in California, one of the places he hates most because of its liberal values ​​and multiculturalism, and where his regime has intervened most aggressively.

In Los Angeles, where U.S. Marines, National Guard troops and armed Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers have been controversially deployed by the federal government since June, some predominantly Latino neighborhoods remain eerily quiet. On Wednesday morning in Boyle Heights, two of the usual centers of shopping and socializing, Cesar Chavez Avenue and Mariachi Plaza, were almost deserted, bakeries and cafes were empty, only a few outdoor seats in the square were occupied, despite a mild autumn sun. Fear of sudden arrest, detention or deportation has forced many people to stay home and avoid public spaces for months.

Yet in downtown Los Angeles’ nearby arts district, a gentrified network of former warehouses and factories, bakeries and cafes were busy as usual. Over expensive iced coffees and greasy, artisanal sandwiches, groups of fashionably dressed people, largely white, discussed their latest cultural projects. The fact that Trump and his supporters would likely hate the whole scene, or that something close to martial law had been imposed right next door, didn’t seem to affect these ambitious millennials. In the United States, as in other countries in the process of becoming or having become authoritarian, for those spared by the state, careers, social life, leisure and consumerism continue – and sometimes with a new intensity, as a form of escape.

However, avoiding and engaging in politics are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Often, both impulses coexist in people, especially when confronted with something as provocative and exhausting as far-right populism. Periods of passivity, of apparent acceptance of the status quo, alternate with a need to act.

A fortnight ago, I went to a No Kings protest in Beverly Hills, a California city far less associated with activism than with deep wealth. I expected a small gathering of liberal elites; instead, there were a few thousand noisy people, of all ages, marching for hours along a park, holding witty anti-Trump signs and chanting, accompanied by drummers and constant honking of passing cars. The chants weren’t that smooth, suggesting that the participants didn’t protest often, as did their happy smiles, as if they were doing something unexpectedly pleasant and naughty. The whole event was eye-opening: politics came alive for people, perhaps for the first time.

But authoritarianism can also provoke more blasé reactions. In San Francisco, a traditionally more political place, although there were large protests against the Kings, I also encountered contempt for Trump and his entourage, for their blatant self-interest, caricatured bullying, and vast exaggerations, which risked escalating into angry apathy: a belief that the regime was a malignant reality, like a government in a totally corrupt state or the Soviet bloc. This response, like the refusal to live up to Trump’s attention-seeking, can be understood and justified as a form of conscious disengagement and as a coping mechanism. Yet while liberals and leftists ponder, his regime advances relentlessly.

While I was in San Francisco, it was rumored that he was about to send troops or federal agents into what he claimed was a bankrupt city. Some people I spoke to there ridiculed the idea. They pointed to the many beautiful streets, thriving businesses, picturesque green spaces and plentiful public transportation — a quality of life that, while increasingly unaffordable for some, exceeds that of many Trump-supporting places.

However, in countries dominated by autocratic populism and digital media, propaganda often runs counter to the facts. Trump has called off his invasion of San Francisco, but the possibility of such an invasion remains, like a crude but effective television cliffhanger. Creating a politics that can sustainably resist the showmanship and drama of right-wing populism is a project that has so far defeated Trump’s opponents, except for lone leftists like Zohran Mamdani and Bernie Sanders.

If Reform UK wins power, as seems increasingly possible, then Britain’s liberals and leftists will face the same challenge. Nigel Farage could launch any number of attention-grabbing policies from Downing Street, such as the Trump-style deconstruction and politicization of Whitehall promised by the Reform Party this week. These policies may fail or disappoint, as Trump’s policies often have, but they nevertheless determine the political climate. Unless the opponents of populism create an equally relentless and compelling movement, and silence more of those whom populism victimizes and frightens, then this age of autocrats will continue. As the United States shows, sporadic resistance, contempt and avoidance are not enough.