Pearce Godwin, founder and CEO of the Listen First Project, joins Deconstructed to discuss what is driving the political divide and how to fix it. After working for the U.S. Senate and serving as a national political consultant for campaigns, Godwin traveled to Africa with a relief organization to gain a fresh perspective which ultimately led him to found the Listen First movement.
For generations, Americans have surrounded themselves with the symbols of ancient Greece and Rome: marble columns, laurel wreaths, Roman eagles, and the fasces. These icons, carved into our government buildings and featured on our currency, were intended to embody democracy, civic virtue, and republican ideals.
But in recent years, far-right movements in the U.S. and abroad have hijacked these classical images, repackaging them into symbols of exclusion, militarism, and authoritarian nostalgia.
As a student of both Classical Civilizations and Public Policy, I’ve seen this trend firsthand. Online spaces and political rallies now bristle with distorted classical references: Spartan helmets on protest gear, Roman eagles on alt-right banners, and phrases like molon labe (“come and take them”) lifted from ancient Greek battles but weaponized for modern culture wars.
This isn’t accidental. Extremist groups deliberately lean on classical symbolism to project legitimacy and historical grandeur. Their goal is to link their movement with notions of strength, order, and Western identity – often coded with racial and cultural exclusion.
The far right’s fascination with the ancient world has deep roots. In the 1920s and ’30s, Benito Mussolini drew heavily on Roman imagery to build Italian Fascism, adopting the fasces (a bundle of rods and an axe once carried by Roman magistrates) as the regime’s primary emblem. Nazi Germany followed suit, celebrating classical sculpture and architecture as models of supposed Aryan purity, while denouncing modern art as “degenerate.”
Today’s extremists borrow these same visual cues. The January 6 Capitol riot showcased Spartan and Roman symbols among the flags and homemade shields. In Charlottesville, at the 2017 Unite the Right rally, white nationalists marched with fasces emblems and the Roman acronym SPQR, the historic motto of the Roman Republic. White nationalist groups like Identity Evropa and Vanguard America continue to embed Roman eagles and Greek statuary into their propaganda materials.
The strategy is clear: these symbols evoke a sense of timeless authority and noble struggle. They suggest a connection to ancient civilizations that are popularly, but often simplistically, viewed as the cradle of democracy and Western greatness.
And that brings us to an uncomfortable truth: this hijacking is made easier by the way mainstream American culture has mythologized the classical world for decades.
For many Americans, Greece and Rome have long been portrayed in a sanitized narrative: Athens as the pure birthplace of democracy, and Rome as a republic of virtuous citizens. Our civic buildings mimic the Parthenon and Pantheon. Our textbooks focus on Athenian voting rights and Roman legal codes, often skipping over the less flattering realities: slavery, imperialism, patriarchy, and political collapse.
By flattening classical history into a story of unbroken democratic virtue, we’ve created a blind spot. Extremist groups exploit this by framing themselves as heirs to an imagined tradition of Western strength and purity.
Take the Spartan obsession, for example. In reality, Sparta was a militarized society that depended on the mass enslavement of the helot population and engaged in routine violence to maintain social order. However, modern far-right groups latch onto a Hollywood-inspired version of Sparta: all heroism, all warrior ethos, with no historical context.
The same goes for Roman imagery. The fasces, which in the U.S. have long symbolized unity and civic authority, are now appearing on hate group banners to signal authoritarian power. Even the Latin motto SPQR, originally an emblem of citizen governance, has been stripped of context and repurposed for modern nationalist signaling.
So, how do we respond?
First, educators have a critical role. As a classics student, I’ve learned that understanding Greece and Rome means wrestling with contradictions: innovation and oppression, civic ideals and systemic injustice. Middle and high school teachers, as well as university professors, should present the classical world in its full complexity—not as a golden age to be uncritically admired. Students should leave a unit on Athens knowing not only about democracy, but also about who was excluded from it.
Second, policymakers and civic leaders must be mindful of how they use classical symbols today. While classical architecture and symbolism remain fixtures in public life, their deployment must be accompanied by an awareness of how extremists are attempting to reframe their meaning. Civic leaders should refrain from using these images in ways that inadvertently echo extremist aesthetics, particularly in campaign materials or public art.
Third, online platforms and moderators play a crucial role. Just as we flag hate symbols and dog whistles in other contexts, there should be an awareness of how classical imagery is being used in far-right propaganda. This doesn’t mean banning every Roman eagle, but it does mean being alert when such symbols appear alongside calls to violence or exclusion.
Finally, the general public needs to approach classical imagery with more historical literacy. The solution isn’t to erase Greece and Rome from our civic identity, but to study them with clear eyes. When we understand their full history, including their flaws, failures, and complexities, we rob extremists of the ability to manipulate these symbols unchallenged.
The classical world was never monolithic, and neither is our democracy. Both are complicated, diverse, and constantly evolving. If we want democratic symbols to remain tools for inclusion rather than division, we need to reclaim them from those who would distort the past to undermine the present.
Bennett Gillespie is a student at Duke University and a council member of the Duke Program in American Grand Strategy. He is also an intern with the Fulcrum.
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The B-2 "Spirit" Stealth Bomber flys over the 136th Rose Parade Presented By Honda on Jan. 1, 2025, in Pasadena, California. (Jerod Harris/Getty Images/TNS)
After a short and successful war with Iraq, President George H.W. Bush claimed in 1991 that “the ghosts of Vietnam have been laid to rest beneath the sands of the Arabian desert.” Bush was referring to what was commonly called the “Vietnam syndrome.” The idea was that the Vietnam War had so scarred the American psyche that we forever lost confidence in American power.
The elder President Bush was partially right. The first Iraq war was certainly popular. And his successor, President Clinton, used American power — in the former Yugoslavia and elsewhere — with the general approval of the media and the public.
But when the younger Bush, Clinton’s successor, launched wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, the Vietnam syndrome came back with a vengeance. Barely three weeks after the U.S. attacked Afghanistan on Oct. 7, 2002, famed New York Times correspondent R.W. Apple penned a piece headlined “A Military Quagmire Remembered: Afghanistan as Vietnam.”
“Like an unwelcome specter from an unhappy past,” Apple wrote, “the ominous word ‘quagmire’ has begun to haunt conversations among government officials and students of foreign policy, both here and abroad.”
“Could Afghanistan become another Vietnam?” he rhetorically asked. “Echoes of Vietnam are unavoidable,” he asserted.
Over the next 12 months, the newspaper ran nearly 300 articles with the words “Vietnam” and “Afghanistan” in them. The New York Times, Washington Post, Chicago Tribune and Los Angeles Times ran articles mentioning Iraq and Vietnam at an average rate of more than twice a day (I looked it up 20 years ago).
The tragic irony is that President George W. Bush did what his father couldn’t: He exorcised the specter of “another Vietnam” — but he also replaced it with the specter of “another Iraq.”
That’s what’s echoing in the reaction to President Trump’s decision to attack Iran’s nuclear facilities. We’re all familiar with cliches about generals fighting the last war, but journalists and politicians have the same habit of cramming the square peg of current events into the round hole of previous conflicts.
Trump’s decision to bomb Iran — which I broadly support, with caveats — is fair game for criticism and concern. But the Iraq syndrome cosplay misleads more than instructs. For starters, no one is proposing “boots on the ground,” never mind “occupation” or “nation-building.”
The debate over whether George W. Bush lied us into war over the issue of weapons of mass destruction is more tendentious than the conventional wisdom on the left and right would have you believe. But it’s also irrelevant. No serious observer disputes that Iran has been pursuing a nuclear weapon for decades. The only live question is, or was: How close is Iran to having one?
Tulsi Gabbard, the director of national intelligence, told Congress in March — preposterously in my opinion — that “Iran is not building a nuclear weapon.” On Sunday, “Meet the Press” host Kristen Welker asked Vice President JD Vance, “So, why launch this strike now? Has the intelligence changed, Mr. Vice President?”
It’s a good question. But it’s not a sound basis for insinuating that another Republican president is again using faulty intelligence to get us into a war — just like Iraq.
The squabbling over whether this was a “preemptive” rather than “preventative” attack misses the point. America would be justified in attacking Iran even if Gabbard was right. Why? Because Iran has been committing acts of war against America, and Israel, for decades, mostly through terrorist proxies it created, trained, funded and directed for that purpose. In 1983, Hezbollah militants blew up the U.S. Embassy in Lebanon, killing 63. Later that year, it blew up the U.S. Marine barracks, also in Beirut, killing 241 Americans. In the decades since, Hezbollah and other Iranian proxies have orchestrated or attempted the murder of Americans repeatedly, including during the Iraq war. It even authorized the assassination of President Trump, according to Joe Biden’s Justice Department.
These are acts of war that would justify a response even if Iran had no interest in a nuclear weapon. But the fanatical regime — whose supporters routinely chant “Death to America!” — is pursuing a nuclear weapon.
For years, the argument for not taking out that program has rested largely on the fact that it would be too difficult. The facilities are too hardened, Iran’s proxies are too powerful.
That is the intelligence that has changed. Israel crushed Hezbollah and Hamas militants and eliminated much of Iran’s air defense system. What once seemed like a daunting assault on a Death Star turned into a layup by comparison.
None of this means that things cannot get worse or that Trump’s decision won’t end up being regrettable. But whatever that scenario looks like, it won’t look much like what happened in Iraq, except for those unwilling to see it any other way.
Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.
The Comet Ping Pong Pizzagate shooting, the plot to kidnap Governor Gretchen Whitmer, and a man’s livestreamed beheading of his father last year were all fueled by conspiracy theories. But while the headlines suggest that conspiratorial thinking is on the rise, this is not the case. Research points to no increase in conspiratorial thinking. Still, to a more dangerous reality: the conspiracies taking hold and being amplified by political ideologues are increasingly correlated with violence against particular groups. Fortunately, promising new research points to actions we can take to reduce conspiratorial thinking in communities across the US.
Some journalists claim that this is “a golden age of conspiracy theories,” and the public agrees. As of 2022, 59% of Americans think that people are more likely to believe in conspiracy theories today than 25 years ago, and 73% of Americans think conspiracy theories are “out of control.” Most blame this perceived increase on the role of social media and the internet.
But these headlines misunderstand the crisis: belief in conspiracy theories is not on the rise. Dr. Joseph Uscinski, an expert on conspiracy theories at the University of Miami who has tracked their prevalence and effects for close to two decades, finds no increase in levels of conspiratorial thinking. Others echo his findings: a study by Uscinski and researchers from the US and UK found no increase in conspiratorial beliefs in the US (or in six European countries, for that matter) from the 1960s through 2020. For instance, only about 5% of Americans believe in Q-Anon, and positive feelings towards Q-Anon have not increased since 2018. In fact, belief decreased rather than increased in most of the conspiracy theories examined. Most conspiracy theories pop up and burn out quickly. Those that take hold for a number of years are the exception.
What is growing is the link between believing in conspiracies and justifying or committing violence against particular groups or political opponents. A 2024 study found that between 2012 and 2022, the correlation between support for political violence and conspiratorial thinking tripled in magnitude–– but researchers don’t know why. Researchers do know that “fringe” conspiracy beliefs––less popular beliefs held by more homogenous groups––tend to correlate more strongly with political violence. Specifically, Holocaust denialism and false flag theories (conspiracies that suggest that attacks or events were staged by one group and pinned on another, such as that school shootings are staged by professional actors) are particularly strongly correlated with support for political violence. Experts suggest that this growing link is perhaps due to violent people more often turning to conspiracies to justify their violent actions. Committing violence may not be such a leap for Holocaust deniers who are already willing to entertain violent thoughts outside the mainstream. Meanwhile, violent individuals might believe they are justified in acting on false flag conspiracies when those beliefs are normalized and amplified by political ideologues–– as with assertions that the FBI perpetrated the January 6th insurrection.
Conspiratorial thinking doesn't make people violent. Instead, it directs violent people towards particular targets, channeling violence against groups like Jews, Muslims, and the LGBTQ+ community. The 2017 Charlottesville protesters, decrying “Jews will not replace us,” echoed the Great Replacement Theory and Jewish world domination conspiracies. Conspiracies have also become a justification for militant Accelerationists, a group that advocates destroying economic, political, and societal systems to hasten the downfall of societies and rebuild them in their image. In the 2018 Tree of Life Shooting, the assailant killed 11 congregants because he believed the synagogue was systematically bringing in immigrants to replace White Americans. Additionally, as seen in the examples above, attitude generalization causes prejudice against one group––say, from a conspiracy theory focused on Jews––to increase prejudice towards other groups, such as Asians, Muslims, and the LGBTQ+ community.
Encouragingly, some successful interventions are emerging. Promising new research had people who believe in conspiracies discuss their beliefs with artificial intelligence, large language models. Participants knew they were interacting with AI, and yet the interaction reduced belief in their chosen conspiracy theories by 20%, with the effect lasting at least two months. This debunking even spilled over into participants’ belief in other conspiracies, leading to a general decrease in conspiratorial thinking. That makes sense: conspiratorial thinking is more of a belief system (i.e. blaming secret plots spearheaded by elites or malign groups to explain events in opposition to evidence presented by bodies of experts), rather than a belief in just one conspiracy. Interestingly, receiving information from an AI bot may work better than human interventions, because believers feel judged by people, get defensive, and dig in. With an AI bot, they can ask for and receive facts without the emotions that come from feeling attacked. This might cause participants to be less defensive, perceive less bias, and use more analytical thinking.
Additionally, researchers found that having one to four strong social connections reduces the likelihood of supporting or engaging in political violence. Work in other areas of targeted violence suggests that family intervention encourages change in these beliefs. Methods such as these could prove effective for changing the minds of those who believe in conspiracy theories and keeping those who hold violent conspiracies from taking the next step into action. Combined with this promising new AI intervention, there may be a real chance to blunt the impact of conspiracy theories on targeted groups.
Dalya Berkowitz is a Senior Research Analyst in the Democracy, Conflict, and Governance Program at Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, focusing on targeted and political violence in the U.S. She has an MA in Security Studies from Georgetown University.
Peggy Noonan has been a voice of conservative reflection for The Wall Street Journal since leaving the Ronald Reagan administration as his primary speechwriter. Five of Noonan’s books have been New York Times bestsellers. Consuming every word of her weekly column keeps me politically balanced.
In her June 14-15 column titled “America is losing sight of its political culture,” she referred to and elaborated on our 47th president being America’s Mr. Tinpot Dictator. This phrase, often used to describe a leader who acts like a dictator, with delusions of grandeur and authoritarian tendencies, struck a chord. Following the title about Mr. Trump, I pursued investigative research on the topic.
My research led me to study Jeane Kirkpatrick, who played a major role in the foreign policy arm of the Ronald Reagan administration. She was an ardent anti-communist and became the first female to serve as US Ambassador to the United Nations. In Kirkpatrick’s 1982 book, “Dictatorship and Double Standards,” she described two kinds of dictatorships: traditional autocracies (Russia, China, Saudi Arabia, North Korea, and the United Arab Emirates) and tinpot dictatorships (Nicaragua, the Philippines, Syria, and Panama).
Kirkpatrick argued that dictators remain in power by using the tools of repression, domination, and fear. In a Perplexity AI research-based search, 15 documented examples of Donald Trump exhibiting behaviors commonly associated with a tinpot dictator were revealed. The examples – noted below -- are referenced by nine different sources and align with patterns seen in authoritarian regimes, where leaders undermine democratic institutions, target minorities, silence dissent, and concentrate power to the point where they feel and act like a king.
Since January 20, Americans have witnessed a disturbing pattern:
In just 160 days of Trump’s 2.0 administration, Trump’s actions have closely mirrored classic authoritarian tactics such as labeling media as “enemies of the people,” downgrading valid research-based polls that show America’s disapproval of him and his cabinet members’ actions, quashing states’ rights, using force against protestors by calling in the military to quell his definition of civil unrest, undermining Congressional and judicial institutional checks, demeaning people. Even members of his own party who dissent are publicly demeaned
Thom Hartman, columnist for the independent news outlet Common Dreams, noted in his June 23 op-ed regarding Trump’s decision to bomb Iran, “By defying the law – the Constitution, the War Powers Act, and the AUMF (Authorization to Use Military Force) – and simply bombing Iran without any consultation whatsoever, he’s also pulling a dictator stunt … .”
Constitutional scholars concur that, as a minimum, Trump should have consulted the bipartisan congressional Gang of Eight that U.S. law (50 U.S.C. 3093) requires before he bombed Iran. Trump’s self-presentation, non-consultation, and unlawful action on June 22 were a model authoritarian narrative where one person tries to demonstrate that he alone is the king. Trump’s actions against Iran opened up a Pandora's box for 340 million Americans plus our allies, and no one, not even the tinpot dictator, knows what consequences this may lead to.
Knowing that fair-minded Americans have witnessed the earlier cited 15 actions by their president in only 160 days and realize they’ve 1,300 more days before Trump 2.0 ends, there are several pillars that are at risk for Americans. They include:
With Trump 2.0, Americans sure have a lot on our plates, don’t we? And behold, look at the calendar. Friday, July 4, kicked off the year-long celebration of America’s 250th birthday, which formally occurs on July 4, 2026. Never forget that in 1776, the Declaration of Independence proclaimed that American citizens were no longer subject to or subordinate to a dictatorial king.
Fellow citizens: What are you going to do between now and July 4, 2026, to protect and preserve our independence from a tinpot dictator?
So, fellow citizens, I ask you:
This is your America. The choice is yours.
Steve Corbin is Professor Emeritus of Marketing, University of Northern Iowa, and a non-paid freelance opinion editor and guest columnist contributor to 246 news agencies and 48 social media platforms in 45 states.
