I remember when “fascist” became a word we all used, right around the time we first learned what it meant in adolescence. It had the kerb appeal of a swearword without the rudeness to get you into trouble, and you could spit it – really put your shoulder into the “f” at the front and the digraph in the middle. There was something satisfying about the word “fascist”, which was, back then, the apex, the very fanciest of insults. You thought I was being mean in a trivial, localised way, when in fact I was offering a structural analysis of your political ideology (plus your horrible personality and disastrous side-parting).
Most of us aged out of that phase when everyone and everything that opposed us was fascist. Still, aspects of the pleasures embedded in the word survived its wear and tear so that decades later, there is still a vague frisson, partly nostalgic, lighting up its outer fringes. Among adults, “fascist” tends to be used in a lightly ironised form, often in the context of a customer service dispute or fight with petty officialdom. Analogising the man at T-Mobile with the Nazis delivers some of the old sniggering satisfaction and for a long time this was fine, but now we have run into an obvious problem. The flippancy and babyishness of how we use “fascist” is making it hard, if not impossible, to recharge its meaning.
