May 6, 2026
Endorsing the Urgent Analysis of Ethiopia’s Crisis While Advocating Conceptual Precision in Labeling
Note to Readers
This reflection was originally composed in response to Prof. Girma Berhanu’s article, “Fascism at Work: Propaganda, Conspiracy, Lies, Hatred, and Incompetence in Ethiopia” (March 23, 2026). Due to unavoidable work obligations, I was unable to finish and submit it for publication at that time. In the interim, Prof. Girma has published a second article, “When Democracy Weakens: Fragile Political Cultures and Fascistic Drift” (May 2, 2026), which I have since read with tremendous interest. While this reflection continues to focus on the earlier article, I believe its primary concern remains relevant more broadly: the distinction between warning vocabularies of fascistic drift and more comprehensive classificatory claims about fascism remains analytically significant. Furthermore, its argument has broader implications for the interpretive framework shaping the subsequent article.
Introduction
This reflection responds to Prof. Girma Berhanu’s article, “Fascism at Work: Propaganda, Conspiracy, Lies, Hatred, and Incompetence in Ethiopia” (March 23, 2026), by acknowledging its urgent concern regarding Ethiopia’s political and humanitarian crisis—including repression, ethnonationalist tensions, risks of cultural erasure, and the victimization of the Amhara community, while critically examining its broader application of Jason Stanley’s framework of “fascist politics” (Stanley, 2020). The argument advanced here is not that Ethiopia’s crisis is undeserving of strong moral language; it is, rather, that conceptual precision is essential if such diagnoses are to remain analytically persuasive and politically credible.
Grounded in Giovanni Sartori’s warning against conceptual stretching and Roger Griffin’s minimalist definition of fascism as palingenetic ultra-nationalism, this reflection argues that while the article’s moral urgency is genuine and its underlying alarm is serious, its diagnostic vocabulary at times exceeds the conceptual threshold required for a rigorous classification of fascism (Griffin, 1991; Sartori, 1970). Griffin’s emphasis on intersubjective agreement is particularly relevant here. In the human sciences, concepts do not possess the fixed objectivity of the natural sciences but instead depend on shared agreement regarding their meaning and scope. For that reason, the term fascism must retain disciplined boundaries if it is to remain analytically useful. The purpose of this reflection is, therefore, not to weaken the critique but to strengthen it through clearer distinctions and a more conceptually disciplined argument.
To clarify the scope of this commentary, the critique is directed not at the article’s concern with repression, ethnonationalist tensions, anti-democratic tendencies, or the suffering of the Amhara, but at the move from identifying such dangers through Stanley’s framework to treating them as sufficient grounds for a fuller classificatory label. Stanley’s analytical tools—including propaganda, myth-making, anti-intellectualism, conspiracy thinking, and exclusionary nationalism—are undeniably valuable as warning signs of democratic erosion and authoritarian drift (Stanley, 2020).
However, the presence of these features alone does not automatically establish fascism in the fuller historical or regime-theoretic sense. In all other major respects, the article’s alarm regarding Ethiopia’s political trajectory is taken seriously and broadly shared.
Textual Basis for This Reflection: Laying the Groundwork
This reflection is not based merely on inference or general impression. It arises from several formulations in the article that move beyond identifying fascist-style tactics to a broader characterization of the political order itself. At the outset, the article states unequivocally that the practices identified through Stanley’s framework are “not only present in Ethiopia today but are increasingly defining features of the current political order under Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed and the ideology often described as Oromumma.”
Later, it argues that “the convergence of these elements is neither accidental nor temporary” but reflects “a coherent political logic, one that aligns closely with Stanley’s account of how fascism operates in practice.” In its discussion of the Finfinnee framework, the article goes further still, describing the proposal as “a textbook example of fascist political tactics,” then characterizing it as “a fascistic blueprint,” and finally as reflecting “a fascistic logic.”
These formulations matter because they show that the article does not stop at identifying warning signs or recurring tactics; it advances a stronger claim about the defining character of the political order and the political logic that animates it. It is this movement, from heuristic warning to broader classificatory implication, that grounds the present reflection’s concern with conceptual overreach.
1. Conceptual Precision and the Limits of the “Fascist” Label
The article identifies a wide range of deeply troubling developments in Ethiopia’s current political trajectory: repression, propaganda, the instrumentalization of identity, anti-intellectualism, conspiracy narratives, and the erosion of democratic norms. These are not marginal defects; they are serious patterns of governance that demand scrutiny, accountability, and moral concern. Girma’s anger over injustices such as the systemic targeting of Amhara communities and the erosion of cultural heritage reflects the gravity of the crisis.
Girma’s interpretation is rooted primarily in Jason Stanley’s account of “fascist politics” as a set of tactics rather than a fixed historical regime type (Stanley, 2020). Within that framework, myth-making, propaganda, anti-intellectualism, conspiracy thinking, and exclusionary nationalism function as warning signs of democratic erosion and authoritarian drift (Stanley, 2020). In this respect, the article has genuine analytic value: it highlights mechanisms through which exclusionary politics can become normalized and entrenched over time.
The difficulty begins when the presence of such tactics is treated as sufficient to justify the fuller classificatory label of fascism. Stanley’s framework is especially useful as an early-warning heuristic, but a warning framework is not identical to a regime-type definition (Stanley, 2020). The existence of tactics similar to those of fascism does not, by itself, establish fascism in the fuller historical or theoretical sense. All fascist regimes are authoritarian, but not all authoritarian or ethnonationalist regimes are fascist.
This concern is not merely semantic; it is rooted in established debates in comparative political theory about how concepts lose explanatory value when stretched beyond their proper boundaries. Giovanni Sartori’s theory of conceptual stretching warns that when a category such as fascism is extended too broadly across different forms of oppressive rule, it risks losing the precision that makes comparison meaningful (Sartori, 1970). A term that comes to encompass nearly every form of exclusionary or repressive politics may retain rhetorical force while losing analytical discrimination.
Roger Griffin’s minimalist definition of fascism further sharpens this concern. For Griffin, fascism is not simply authoritarianism plus propaganda, nor exclusionary politics plus myth-making. Its defining core is palingenetic ultra-nationalism: the revolutionary drive to achieve a rebirth of the nation as a unified historical subject (Griffin, 1991). This narrower threshold matters because it distinguishes fascism from other authoritarian, illiberal, or ethnonationalist formations that may employ similar tactics without embodying the same ideological project.
Griffin’s emphasis on intersubjective agreement is especially important here because concepts in the human sciences rely on shared meanings and thresholds rather than fixed natural-scientific boundaries.
In general, the effort to establish a universal definition of fascism remains notoriously elusive, often likened to ‘nailing jelly to the wall.’ The term must navigate the tension between being a specific historical regime type and a fluid array of political tactics that can vary significantly across different cultures and eras. This complexity complicates the establishment of a universally accepted definition of fascism.
If “fascism” is applied too loosely to a wide range of regimes, movements, or identity-based conflicts, it risks becoming less a precise analytical category than a generalized expression of moral condemnation.
Griffin’s emphasis on intersubjective agreement underscores that concepts in the human sciences rely on shared meanings; thus, Ethiopia’s ethnic federalism and identity fragmentation substantially complicate a fascist classification, as they foster a fragmented autocracy rather than a palingenetic rebirth of a unified nation.
This structural fragmentation sits uneasily with Griffin’s minimalist definition of fascism as palingenetic ultra-nationalism, which requires a revolutionary rebirth of the nation as a single, cohesive political body. In Ethiopia, the regime’s reliance on ethnic federalism, structuring the country into autonomous ethnic regions with rights to self-determination, substantially complicates this by institutionalizing competing identity claims and political divisions rather than unified national mobilization. This fosters a fragmented autocracy marked by ethnic conflicts and instability, not a totalizing fascist project.
A related but distinct approach appears in Umberto Eco’s “Ur-Fascism,” which identifies a cluster of recurring fascist traits—such as mythic traditionalism, anti-intellectualism, and hostility to difference—without reducing fascism to a single institutional form (Eco, 1995). Like Stanley’s framework, Eco’s approach is useful for identifying affinities and warning signs. However, precisely for that reason, it also requires caution when using such traits to support full regime classification.
Warning vocabularies are most effective when they do not erase the conceptual differences they are meant to illuminate. While Stanley rightly emphasizes the importance of recognizing dangerous political tactics before they culminate in more fully developed authoritarian orders (Stanley, 2020), this reflection does not challenge the article’s concerns regarding propaganda, exclusion, or state violence. Rather, it questions the shift from identifying these features to classifying the political order as fascist without sufficient qualification. This move may be rhetorically powerful, but it entails a greater analytical burden of proof.
2. On the Article’s Use of Stanley’s Framework
The article draws heavily on Jason Stanley’s account of fascist politics and applies that framework to Ethiopia’s current condition. It argues that propaganda, myth-making, anti-intellectualism, victimhood narratives, exclusionary nationalism, and the destruction of truth are not incidental distortions but increasingly defining features of the present political order. In this respect, the article does not invoke Stanley merely as a loose metaphor. It makes a substantive claim that these tendencies are structurally embedded in contemporary Ethiopian politics.
That claim deserves serious engagement. Girma is not simply deploying an emotionally charged label in passing; he is attempting to interpret Ethiopia’s political trajectory through a recognizable theoretical lens. This is important to acknowledge because any critique that ignores the article’s analytic ambition risks becoming unfair. Stanley’s framework is indeed useful for identifying how regimes and movements normalize exclusion, manipulate collective memory, delegitimize critical thought, and erode the conditions of democratic life before a more consolidated authoritarian order fully matures.
At the same time, the article appears to move between two related but distinct uses of Stanley’s framework. At one level, it uses “fascist politics” heuristically: as a way of identifying warning signs, recurring tactics, and dangerous tendencies within a deteriorating political order. At another level, however, it suggests something stronger—namely, that these features amount to a more settled fascist political logic or a defining characteristic of the regime as such. The problem is not the use of Stanley’s framework itself, but the slippage between these two levels of argument.
This distinction matters. A heuristic use of Stanley’s framework can be analytically illuminating even when the stricter classificatory threshold of fascism has not been met. It allows one to say, with force and legitimacy, that a regime exhibits fascist tendencies, employs fascist-like tactics, or reproduces patterns historically associated with fascist politics. However, such observations do not automatically establish that the political order is fascist in the fuller historical or regime-theoretic sense. The existence of warning signs, however grave, is not identical to a settled regime classification.
One reason for caution is that many of the features highlighted in the article are not unique to fascism. Propaganda, conspiracy thinking, anti-intellectualism, identity-based exclusion, law-and-order rhetoric, and the strategic use of victimhood narratives are prevalent in various authoritarian, ethnonationalist, populist, and illiberal political movements. Their presence may indicate serious democratic erosion and a dangerous exclusionary logic, but they do not by themselves resolve the question of whether fascism is the most precise conceptual label.
This is especially relevant in the Ethiopian case, where the article combines Stanley’s tactical framework with broader historical and moral analogies that invoke totalitarianism, Nazism, and genocidal danger. Some of these comparisons may be intended as warnings rather than literal equivalences, but the text does not always specify the threshold at which analogy ends and classification begins. As a result, the argument sometimes appears to move too quickly from identifying recurring political mechanisms to implying a more comprehensive fascist diagnosis.
This observation is not intended to minimize the article’s substantive alarm regarding state repression, identity-based violence, and the vulnerability of the Amhara community; it is simply to note that a framework designed to identify the early mechanics of exclusionary politics should not be treated as self-sufficient proof of a full fascist classification without additional theoretical and historical demonstration.
A more restrained formulation would therefore strengthen rather than weaken the article’s critique. Ethiopia exhibits authoritarian, ethnonationalist, exclusionary, and even fascistic tendencies in ways that are morally urgent and politically dangerous. However, to move from that diagnosis to the unqualified assertion of fascism requires a further step in argument, one that must demonstrate not only the presence of familiar tactics but also the broader ideological, organizational, and historical features that distinguish fascism from other forms of repressive rule.
Accordingly, the issue is not whether Stanley’s framework is relevant to Ethiopia. It plainly is. The issue is whether the article sometimes asks that framework to do more than it can securely establish on its own. Used as a diagnostic tool, it offers genuine insight. Used as a conclusive classificatory instrument, it raises the risk of conceptual overreach.
3. Ethiopia as an Authoritarian and Ethnonationalist Order
If the fascist label is analytically contestable, that does not leave the Ethiopian case conceptually indeterminate. On the contrary, there are strong reasons to describe the current political order as authoritarian, ethnonationalist, exclusionary, and institutionally corrosive. Such a diagnosis is not a rhetorical retreat; it is an effort to identify the regime’s governing logic more precisely.
Fascism, in its stricter historical and conceptual sense, entails more than the accumulation of disturbing political behaviors. It is generally associated with a revolutionary and totalizing movement that seeks to remake state and society through an integrative myth of national rebirth, disciplined mass mobilization, and an exclusionary but unified conception of the political community (Griffin, 1991). By contrast, Ethiopia’s present political condition appears marked less by coherent national palingenesis than by fragmentation, selective coercion, contested legitimacy, and the politicization of competing identity claims within an already fractured state structure.
This distinction is important because authoritarian and ethnonationalist orders can be profoundly repressive without becoming fascist in the full classical sense. In such systems, ideology often functions instrumentally: identity is mobilized to consolidate power, justify coercion, neutralize opposition, and redistribute symbolic or material advantage. Such an order is deeply violent, exclusionary, and anti-democratic. However, its logic is not necessarily that of a unified revolutionary project aimed at rebirthing the entire nation as a single organic whole.
The Ethiopian case is especially illustrative in this regard. Oromo identity, or more specifically, the political uses of Oromummaa, is invoked instrumentally by state-linked actors as a source of historical legitimacy and political mobilization. However, the structure of the rule appears oriented less toward a coherent emancipatory or nationally integrative project than toward consolidating power through centralization, coercive control, identity-based legitimation, and regime survival. Even where a discourse of restoration or historical correction is present, it does not automatically follow that the regime constitutes a fully developed fascist order. It may instead reflect the dynamics of ethnonationalist authoritarianism operating within a fragmented multinational state.
This is particularly visible in the article’s discussion of Addis Ababa and the proposed Finfinnee framework. If such initiatives seek to transform the federal capital into a politically privileged space for one ethno-national constituency at the expense of a plural civic order, they would indeed represent a serious form of exclusionary governance. They would also deepen fears of institutionalized partition, unequal citizenship, and the territorialization of identity. These are grave developments. However, even here, the existence of city-centered or regionally specific exclusionary projects does not by itself establish that the regime as a whole meets the fuller threshold of fascism.
It more directly supports the diagnosis of an authoritarian order with strong ethnonationalist and anti-democratic tendencies—one that captures the narrowing of political space, the manipulation of identity, the erosion of democratic norms, and the vulnerability of communities exposed to exclusion or violence —and better reflects the fragmented structure of the Ethiopian state.
Conceptual precision is not an academic luxury here; it is essential to political understanding. To describe the regime as authoritarian and ethnonationalist is not to soften the crisis but to identify more accurately the mechanisms by which power is exercised, legitimacy is constructed, and exclusion is normalized. A diagnosis that is conceptually tighter is often politically stronger because it clarifies the nature of the threat without relying on a label that may itself remain theoretically disputed.
Historical experience further suggests that exclusionary ethnic projects rarely produce a stable political order. More often, they generate resentment, displacement, retaliatory mobilization, and durable institutional fragility. In that respect, the danger identified in Girma’s article is real and urgent. The question raised by this reflection is not whether the political trajectory is alarming but whether “fascism” is the most accurate name for it. A more precise answer in the present case is that Ethiopia exhibits a form of authoritarian ethnonationalism whose consequences may be devastating even without satisfying the full conceptual criteria for fascism.
4. Acknowledging the Moral Force of Girma’s Article
This reflection should not be read as a defense of the current Ethiopian government, nor as an attempt to minimize the suffering of communities exposed to repression, displacement, and identity-based violence. The crisis confronting Ethiopia is real, and the brutality of its political trajectory demands serious moral and political attention. In this respect, Girma’s article performs an important function: it refuses the normalization of authoritarian violence. It insists that the suffering of vulnerable communities, particularly the Amhara, be named rather than obscured.
That moral force matters. The article is right to reject indifference in the face of state repression, anti-democratic drift, cultural marginalization, and the intensification of exclusionary identity politics. Its use of urgent language reflects a deliberate effort to disrupt complacency and call attention to developments the author regards as dangerous not only to one community but to the political future of Ethiopia as a whole. Even if one questions the accuracy of the article’s diagnostic terminology, the underlying concern should not be overlooked.
This is especially true regarding the article’s discussion of the Amhara crisis. Its account of layered victimization—direct violence, narrative distortion, and international under-recognition—captures an important dimension of how suffering can be simultaneously inflicted, denied, and rendered politically invisible. Whether one adopts the exact terminology of “three-tiered victimhood” or not, the broader analytical concern is both intelligible and morally weighty: communities endure not only material harm but also the erasure or minimization of their suffering within broader political and international discourse.
The article’s warning about exclusionary territorial and political projects, particularly regarding Addis Ababa and the proposed Finfinnee framework, likewise warrants scrutiny, criticism, and public alarm. One need not accept the full “fascism” label to recognize the gravity of these dangers.
In that sense, Girma’s article deserves to be taken seriously even when contested. Its central moral concern—the exposure of political cruelty, exclusionary power, and the vulnerability of the Amhara—remains significant. The reflection, therefore, does not reject the article’s urgency; it seeks to preserve that urgency while arguing that its force is better sustained through conceptual precision than through labels that may remain theoretically overextended.
Indeed, conceptual clarity strengthens such warnings by distinguishing authoritarianism from fascism, ensuring moral force remains analytically grounded and persuasive.
5. On Advocacy, Polemic, and Scholarly Restraint
At times, the article shifts from analytical diagnosis to advocacy and a polemical warning. This observation is not intended as a dismissal. In the face of sustained injustice, advocacy may be morally necessary, and anger may be a legitimate response to cruelty, repression, and the normalization of suffering. Girma’s article is clearly animated by such urgency, particularly regarding the Amhara crisis and the broader deterioration of Ethiopia’s political order.
That moral urgency, however, creates a corresponding analytical responsibility. When a text seeks to function simultaneously as scholarly interpretation, public warning, and political intervention, it must take particular care to distinguish between evidence, analogy, classification, and condemnation. The more severe the historical and conceptual label being invoked, the greater the burden to specify the threshold at which description becomes diagnosis and diagnosis becomes classification.
This is especially important where the article draws on analogies associated with fascism, Nazism, and genocidal danger. Such comparisons may be offered as warnings rather than literal equivalences, and in some cases, they may serve a legitimate moral purpose by conveying the magnitude of perceived danger. However, unless the conceptual and evidentiary standards governing those analogies are made explicit, the argument risks allowing rhetorical escalation to outpace analytical demonstration. In such cases, readers may come away persuaded of the urgency of the author’s alarm while remaining uncertain about the precision of the diagnosis itself.
This tension is visible in the article’s broader method. On the one hand, it presents a serious body of concerns: state repression, ethnically exclusionary narratives, anti-democratic drift, cultural marginalization, and the underrecognized suffering of the Amhara. On the other hand, it often articulates these concerns through a vocabulary that moves rapidly across distinct registers—fascist politics, totalitarianism, Nazification, cultural erasure, and the risk of atrocity. Each of these terms may illuminate an aspect of the crisis, but they are not conceptually interchangeable. Without clearer differentiation, the cumulative effect may be morally forceful yet analytically diffuse. Moral force and conceptual precision are not identical virtues: a text may be compelling in its indignation and still overreach in its choice of analytic categories.
The article’s strongest passages lie in its direct moral interventions. However, advocacy must be disciplined to prevent polemical intensity from leading to analytically diffuse outcomes in which rhetorical escalation outpaces demonstration.
For that reason, the relationship between advocacy and scholarly restraint should not be understood as a rigid opposition. A politically committed text can still be analytically rigorous, just as a conceptually careful text can still be morally urgent. The challenge is not to eliminate advocacy but to discipline it, to ensure that rhetorical intensity does not substitute for theoretical clarity. In this respect, the reflection does not object to the article’s alarm as such; it objects only when the register of alarm appears to outrun the conceptual distinctions necessary for persuasive diagnosis.
Ultimately, Girma’s article is strongest when read as an urgent warning against authoritarian cruelty, exclusionary ethnonationalism, and the political invisibilization of Amhara suffering. It becomes more vulnerable when those warnings are folded too quickly into a totalizing conceptual label without sufficient qualification. The problem, therefore, is not advocacy itself but the risk that polemical intensity may obscure the distinctions on which analytical credibility depends.
The distinction at stake can be summarized schematically as follows:
| Feature | Authoritarianism | Fascism |
| Political orientation | May emerge under left- or right-wing regimes; not ideologically fixed | Historically associated with the far right |
| Mass politics | Favors political passivity, compliance, and limited participation | Seeks active mass mobilization and public spectacle |
| Core objective | Prioritizes regime stability, order, and centralized control | Pursues national rebirth, exclusion, and ideological transformation |
| Conception of the polity | Emphasizes obedience and hierarchy | Centers on organic unity, mythic belonging, and purification |
| Use of violence | Employs selective repression against opponents and dissenters | Often normalizes organized political violence, including paramilitary action |
Conclusion
This reflection does not intend to rekindle the debates of the 1970s, when Ethiopian left-wing movements argued over whether the military regime (Derg) should be classified as fascist, nor does it aim to absolve the current brutal autocratic regime in Ethiopia. Instead, it serves as a call for greater conceptual rigor in assessing Ethiopia’s political reality.
Professor Girma Berhanu’s article performs an important moral and political function. It refuses indifference to repression, draws attention to the suffering and under-recognition of the Amhara, and warns against the dangers of exclusionary identity politics, anti-democratic drift, and state-enabled cruelty. These concerns are not peripheral; they are central to any serious assessment of Ethiopia’s present crisis, and they deserve sustained attention.
The argument of this reflection is therefore not directed against the article’s underlying alarm but against the claim that the fascist label can be securely established on the basis of the evidence and conceptual framework presented. Jason Stanley’s account of fascist politics remains valuable as a diagnostic tool for identifying dangerous tactics and warning signs. However, the move from heuristic warning to full classification requires a further step in argument, one that must demonstrate more than the presence of propaganda, myth-making, exclusionary rhetoric, anti-intellectualism, and democratic erosion. Without that additional demonstration, the term risks doing more rhetorical than analytical work.
In the Ethiopian context, the regime’s structural reliance on fragmentation, competing ethno-political claims, and exclusionary forms of identity-based rule more plausibly supports the diagnosis of authoritarian ethnonationalism than that of fully developed fascism in the classical sense. That distinction is not trivial. To misidentify a fragmented ethnic autocracy as a cohesive fascist project is to risk misunderstanding the character of the regime, the mechanisms of its power, and the forms of resistance and analysis its condition requires.
A crisis as grave as Ethiopia’s requires language that is morally serious, politically alert, and analytically exact. There is no need to dilute the reality of repression, exclusion, displacement, or atrocity risk to insist on such exactness. On the contrary, the most persuasive warning is often the one that names the danger as precisely as possible.
If Girma’s article is read as an urgent alarm against cruelty, exclusionary power, and the invisibilization of Amhara suffering, it retains considerable force. The reflection fully shares that urgency. Its claim is simply that rhetorical intensity should not eclipse conceptual discipline and that the credibility of political diagnosis is strengthened, not weakened, when its categories are carefully maintained.
Author’s Note
I regularly read Professor Girma’s work and find his articles thoughtful, well-researched, and intellectually stimulating.
This reflection, therefore, arises from respect rather than opposition; it seeks to distinguish between Girma’s interpretation, which draws on Jason Stanley’s framework, and the more classical approach adopted here, which emphasizes the need for a stricter conceptual threshold for fascism.
The disagreement concerns analytical classification, not the urgency of the concerns raised in Girma’s article. On the contrary, the reflection largely shares the article’s concern with repression, ethnonationalist tensions, anti-democratic tendencies, and the vulnerability of targeted communities.
The purpose of this piece is to question the breadth of the “fascist politics” label, not the seriousness of the underlying political and humanitarian crisis. That position is grounded in established political theories that caution against overextended definitions of fascism.
Viktor Frankl, in his work Man’s Search for Meaning, argues that individuals can maintain their moral agency, dignity, and sense of purpose through attitudinal freedom—the “last of the human freedoms”—even amidst profound suffering. This concept of existential resilience, despite varying circumstances, is evident in the ongoing struggle of the Amhara people.
They face significant challenges imposed by a regime that has stripped them of their autonomy and existence. By taking decisive actions to ensure their survival, the Amhara people respond to life’s difficult questions with both courage and conviction. Their resilience in the face of severe injustice merits recognition, respect, and thoughtful consideration. It is in this spirit that I align myself with the ethical concerns articulated in Prof. Girma’s argument.
References:
Eco, U. (1995, June 22). Ur-Fascism. The New York Review of Books, 42(11), 12–15.
Griffin, R. (1991). The Nature of Fascism. Pinter.
Sartori, G. (1970). Concept Misformation in Comparative Politics. The American Political Science Review, 64(4), 1033–1053.
Stanley, J. (2020). How Fascism Works: The Politics of Us and Them. Random House.
Editor’s Note : Views in the article do not necessarily reflect the views of borkena.com
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