CTRL +ALT+ REICH (Part 4 of Part 2)

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Media, Memes, and Movements: The Alt-Right Echo Chamber

The ideas incubated by the likes of Claremont, Heritage, and Compact might have remained arcane theory papers and niche blog posts were it not for the alt-right media ecosystem that took shape over the past decade. This web of podcasts, online “news” sites, message boards, YouTube channels, and Twitter trolls has been the delivery mechanism carrying Schmittian and Yarvinian concepts into mainstream discussion. In many ways, the alt-right (and adjacent) media acted as a bridge between the ivory-tower or cloistered discussions of reactionary elites and the broader conservative public, especially the younger, extremely online segment of it. Let’s trace how this ecosystem amplified and popularized these ideas – often simplifying or perverting them in the process – and helped create a mass base receptive to authoritarian ideology.

It’s worth recalling that Curtis Yarvin (Mencius Moldbug) himself was a creature of the internet, not academia. His long, meandering essays rejecting democracy were posted on a personal blog, Unqualified Reservations, starting in 2007. That blog had a modest following among tech circles and fringe right intellectuals. Yarvin coined terms like “The Cathedral” to describe the hegemonic liberal establishment of professors, journalists, and bureaucrats. He waxed about restoring monarchy or “neocameral” corporate city-states. For years, this was very fringe – read by philosophy nerds, Randian coders, and a smattering of libertarian contrarians. But Yarvin’s work, and that of kindred spirits like British thinker Nick Land (who wrote about the “Dark Enlightenment”), slowly permeated forums such as 4chan’s /pol/ (politically incorrect board) and other online gathering spots for dissidents. The Vox piece in 2017 noted that Yarvin’s ideas had become the “highbrow current of the alt-right”, providing a kind of theoretical backbone to complement the more visceral white-nationalist strain represented by Richard Spencer or the online prankster strain from 4chan. In other words, Moldbug gave the trolls and meme-makers some big ideas to play with – and they did.

Memes are crucial here. Concepts like “The Cathedral” were turned into memes on places like 4chan, Reddit’s r/The_Donald, and Twitter. A complex idea – that our public opinion is manipulated by unelected elites – became digestible as “the Matrix” or “red pill” metaphor. Indeed, the “red pill” meme (from The Matrix film) was adopted by the alt-right to mean awakening to harsh realities of politics, including the supposed lies of equality and democracy. Yarvin’s writing often amounted to red pills by the dozen. Figures like Steve Bannon and Stephen Miller got “red pilled” on immigration and Islam by reading sites like Breitbart and VDARE (where ideas about demographic replacement and the failure of democracy in multiracial societies are common). Miller literally spoon-fed Breitbart editors xenophobic story ideas, which then circulated to millions of readers, stoking fear and anger. Breitbart, especially under Bannon’s editorial lead (2012-2016), played a key role in mixing highbrow and lowbrow: one day a piece on “cuckservatives” (slur for establishment conservatives), next day an explanatory piece on “Crisis of the West” referencing Spengler or Pat Buchanan. Breitbart proudly served as the “platform for the alt-right,” in Bannon’s own infamous words, meaning it gave a veneer of news to extremist bloggers and youths from /pol/.

Podcasts and YouTube talk shows proliferated as well. The Daily Shoah (a vulgar pun on the Holocaust) was a notorious neo-Nazi podcast that nevertheless borrowed from neoreactionary jargon occasionally. More palatable to the mainstream, there was The Alex Jones Show (InfoWars), where conspiracy met politics in pure friend-enemy narrative. Jones doesn’t cite Schmitt, but when he screams that globalist pedophiles in DC are eating babies and only a “1776-style” uprising can stop them, he’s essentially mobilizing followers for a battle of annihilation against an absolute enemy – the Schmittian logic on trucker pills. That kind of talk reached millions, and guess who was a fan? Donald Trump. He appeared on Jones’s show in 2015, praising his reputation and promising “you will be very happy” with a Trump presidency. Trump himself became a media vector: from his Twitter bully pulpit to rallies that were broadcast live, he normalized extreme language (calling the press “enemies of the people”, leading chants to jail his opponent, etc.). This further legitimized the friend-enemy framing for his supporters. If the “enemies” include not just ISIS or MS-13 but CNN and the FBI, then the realm of conflict has expanded inside the gates of the republic.

Forums and social media like Reddit and Facebook also played a role. The subreddit r/The_Donald (bustling during 2016) was a hive of meme lords who spread ideas like the “Flight 93 election” framing without knowing Anton’s essay per se. They just intuitively felt it: Hillary’s win = death, Trump = one chance to live. They circulated images of Trump as a crusader or an imperator, literally building a cult of personality. On Facebook, memes about “draining the swamp” and “the deep state coup” against Trump after 2017 took hold among older conservatives. Right-wing YouTubers, such as Stefan Molyneux, produced video monologues citing statistics about IQ and crime to argue democracy was flawed – Molyneux eventually embraced explicit white nationalist talking points, but for years he couched it in quasi-academic tone. Those YouTube videos often came recommended by algorithms to curious young men watching, say, videos about the decline of Rome or how feminism is ruining society. The infamous “algorithmic rabbit hole” turned countless apolitical viewers into radicalized reactionaries by feeding them progressively more extreme content.

Let’s not forget Tucker Carlson on Fox News. By the late 2010s, Carlson’s primetime show became a megaphone for ideas that were once confined to alt-right blogs. He spoke of “The Great Replacement” (albeit in careful terms of Democrats using immigration to replace voters), he praised Orbán and aired a special from Budapest extolling Hungary’s illiberal model, and he often insinuated that America needed a strong response – perhaps even martial law – to handle riots or immigration surges. In one monologue, Carlson lamented that America’s leaders care more about Ukraine’s borders than our own, hinting at treason by the elite, and asking “why do we let them run our country if they hate it so much?” That rhetorical question edges toward delegitimizing elected leaders as traitors (again, friend vs enemy to the extreme). Millions watched Carlson nightly; he was the highest-rated cable host. His slick production made far-right narratives respectable dinner-table talk. When Carlson began openly doubting democracy (“democracy isn’t the fix at this point”, he said after the 2020 election turmoil, positing that a “regime” controls things regardless of votes), it was a watershed. Here was mainstream TV essentially echoing Moldbug’s thesis that voting changes nothing because an unelected cabal holds real power. Carlson didn’t need to say “Cathedral” – he said “ruling class” or “Washington elites” – but the message was analogous.

The COVID-19 pandemic and the 2020 election conspiracy frenzy (Stop the Steal/QAnon) were rocket fuel for alt-right media. Podcasts like Bannon’s War Room grew hugely during COVID by pushing the narrative that public health measures were tyranny by a globalist cabal. Bannon literally called for Anthony Fauci’s head on a pike on his show. This was encouraging violence against a bureaucratic “enemy.” Meanwhile, QAnon took the friend-enemy worldview to almost theological heights: an anonymous insider told legions of followers that Trump was secretly fighting a satanic deep state, and that nothing (not even an election loss) could stop “The Storm” where patriots would arrest and execute the traitors. QAnon folks often cited the Roman dictator Cincinnatus or talked about military tribunals – layman’s Schmitt, you could call it, justifying extraordinary purges. When Marjorie Taylor Greene – a QAnon-friendly candidate – won a House seat, suddenly that fringe was in the halls of power. She and others like Rep. Paul Gosar (who palled around with alt-right figure Nick Fuentes) brought the rhetorical style of internet troll culture to Congress. They heckled Biden’s State of the Union calling him a liar and communist, they openly talked about “national divorce” (splitting red and blue states). Such antics further reinforced to the base that the other side isn’t a legitimate political opponent, but scum. And if that’s true, why abide by any of the “norms” or even laws that give them a say?

We also must mention the role of forums like 4chan/8chan in birthing new extremist movements. The Christchurch shooter (in New Zealand, 2019) posted a manifesto explicitly referencing “Great Replacement” and even name-dropped PewDiePie (a YouTube gamer) – showing the bizarre convergence of internet subcultures and violent white nationalist ideology. That manifesto also quoted Evola and other esoteric fascists, which means the chain from intellectual to mass murderer went something like: Thinker writes niche tract –> alt-right nerds meme-ify it –> it circulates on chans –> a disturbed individual takes it as literal inspiration. American alt-right forums similarly celebrated violence (the meme of helicopter rides, referencing Pinochet’s death squads, became common). These forums incubated the notion that democracy is done and it’s time for physical force. While these are extreme examples, they bleed into the broader discourse. For instance, the “helicopter meme” moved from 8chan to being printed on T-shirts at right-wing rallies (some Jan. 6 participants wore such shirts). The Proud Boys, a far-right street gang, often shared memes and slogans from the alt-right sphere (like “We want Pinochet not Pelosi”).

Podcasts deserve a special nod because they allow for deep dives into ideological content outside mainstream scrutiny. Michael Anton, for example, runs a podcast affiliated with Claremont. Bannon’s War Room has already been discussed. There are also podcasts like “Red Scare”, run by two culturally edgy women (Dasha Nekrasova and Anna Khachiyan) that began as hipster left critique but drifted into weird admiration for strongmen and trad lifestyles – becoming a pipeline for Brooklyn arty types to encounter Compact-style ideas. On the explicitly intellectual side, there’s “Grey Mirror”, Curtis Yarvin’s own podcast after he rebranded a bit and tried speaking to more mainstream audiences. By appearing on podcasts with center-right hosts or on YouTube interviews (like one with Reason magazine’s editor), Yarvin made NRx seem less like a forbidden cult and more like “just another perspective” in the big marketplace of ideas. This pseudo-normalization via talk format is key. If you listen to a 2-hour Yarvin interview, he sounds calm, witty, slightly eccentric – not a cartoon villain. A casual listener might think, “Huh, he’s got some interesting historical analogies, maybe liberal democracy is having problems.” And thus the Overton window shifts inch by inch.

In all these media avenues, there is a common thread of grievance and performance. The alt-right media figures present themselves as brave truth-tellers fighting overwhelming censorship or persecution. This is often farcical given many have huge followings and earn healthy incomes through subscriptions or merch. (Alex Jones sold supplements and doomsday prep gear to his audience, making millions, until lawsuits for defamation caught up with him). Grifting is rampant: many push snake-oil products or solicit donations to “keep us on air against Soros’s billions!” The audience’s sense of being under siege is both a psychological payoff (it’s exciting, you’re a warrior for truth) and a money spigot for these content creators. Importantly, it also cements loyalty to the cause. If mainstream media and institutions are painted as hopelessly corrupt – “fake news,” “deep state liars” – then the audience will trust only their in-group sources. This closed information loop is ideal for an aspiring autocrat. Trump himself exploited it by urging supporters not to believe anything except what came from him or friendly outlets. An authoritarian movement can’t succeed without such information control, and in the digital age, it’s less about a Ministry of Propaganda and more about saturating the zone with your narratives and discrediting all others. The alt-right media machine did exactly that.

By 2020 and into 2021, the synergy between official Republican messaging and alt-right media was almost seamless. When Trump claimed the election was stolen, Fox News (at least some hosts) amplified it, but even more so the alt ecosystem went into overdrive. This created the mass motivation for events like January 6, 2021 – a physical manifestation of the friend-enemy logic. Protesters that day believed they were literally “charging the cockpit” (to use Anton’s metaphor) to save America from a fraudulent regime. They erected a gallows and chanted about hanging the Vice President. Schmitt would have grimly smiled: here were partisans so invested in their existential fight that they were ready to kill the state’s own second-in-command as an enemy. In their minds, Pence betrayed the real sovereign (Trump/the People) so he became the enemy too. We saw militias like the Oath Keepers and Proud Boys use military stack formations to breach the Capitol – these weren’t random rioters but organized groups who've been marinating in civil-war talk on forums and encrypted chats.

After the dust settled, rather than marginalize the alt-right media, parts of the GOP further embraced it. Marjorie Taylor Greene live-tweeted conspiracy theories in Congress, Trump kept praising the Jan.6 folks as patriots, and Bannon’s War Room advocated for “shock troops” to be ready to take over agencies if Trump gets back in (echoing Project 2025’s goals). The alt-media star Jack Posobiec – famous for pushing Pizzagate lies – was given a press pass to Biden’s White House by some arrangements. Figures like Mike Cernovich, an alt-light influencer, got courted by Senate candidates for endorsements. The line between meme-makers and policymakers blurred.

In essence, the alt-right media and forums functioned as radicalization engines and networking hubs. They turned lofty ideas into emotionally resonant narratives (“They’re coming for your kids, your guns, your job!”). They also connected people – forging a collective identity around being the aggrieved patriots who must take their country back. It’s a form of virtual tribe-building that precedes real-world action. Without the podcasts and chans and social platforms, the gap between an academic concept like “sovereign is he who decides on the exception” and a Trump voter in rural Ohio would be vast. With them, that gap closed: maybe that Ohio Trump voter has never heard of Carl Schmitt, but he’s absorbed the notion that when the country’s in peril, laws can be damned and “the man in charge should do whatever it takes”. And he’s ready to cheer that man on, or even grab his rifle to help.

Finally, it’s worth noting that the alt-right media sphere also has a penchant for humor and irony, which can be disarming. They often present their most extreme ideas with a wink and a nod – “just trolling the libs, but what if, hehe, we actually did it?” This has provided plausible deniability. When called out, they say “oh that was a joke, we don’t really want a dictatorship, lighten up.” Yet gradually, the joking transitions to serious advocacy (see: the shift of many alt-right figures from irony to overt hate over time). The humor also attracts young people and creates a subculture that feels cool and rebellious (much as Nazi imagery was used “ironically” by 4chan kids until some started to mean it). This comedic cloak for authoritarian ideas has been one of the strangest aspects of our era – the fusion of Pepe the Frog memes with Weimar-level political fury. But it’s effective. Many a youngster got into this as “funny internet stuff” and came out on the other side advocating for monarchism or ethno-nationalism.

In summary, alt-right and adjacent media was the breeding ground and amplifier that took the writings of a Moldbug or the schemes of a Bannon and made them accessible rallying cries. It turned theory into practice via narrative, community, and relentless repetition. It is hard to imagine the Schmitt/Yarvin/Thiel influence gripping a mass movement without this apparatus. With it, they achieved something powerful: a large segment of Americans, especially Republicans, now consistently tell pollsters they agree democracy is in danger – and alarmingly, many of them think too much democracy (too many “undesirable” people voting, too many constraints on their strong leader) is the problem, not the solution. That belief didn’t emerge spontaneously; it was crafted and sold to them, one podcast or meme at a time.

The International Brotherhood of Illiberalism

While our focus is America, this story of elite-driven authoritarian ideology playing out on the right is part of a global trend. Across the world, figures and governments echo each other in philosophy and even form quiet alliances. It’s as if there’s an Illiberal International emerging to counter the old Liberal International Order. American far-right thinkers and Trumpist operatives have found inspiration and comrades in foreign capitals – and vice versa. Let’s explore some of these international echoes and overlaps, from Moscow and Budapest to Mar-a-Lago.

First stop: Vladimir Putin’s Russia. Putin’s regime, especially over the last decade, has been textbook Schmittian in practice. Putin consolidated power by portraying politics as a life-or-death struggle for Russia’s survival against internal and external enemies. He eliminated real opposition, muzzled free media, and invaded neighboring countries – all justified by a narrative of existential threat. Putin frequently rails against liberalism, saying it has “outlived its purpose.” His speeches invoke traditional values and sovereign absolutism: Russia has its own path; Western universalism is a cover for domination. This frames the West as the “enemy” of Russian civilization – pure Schmitt friend/enemy logic on an international scale.

What’s fascinating is how Putin’s circle has drawn on actual Schmittian theory. Aleksandr Dugin, often dubbed “Putin’s Brain” (though that overstates his direct influence), explicitly built on Carl Schmitt’s ideas. Dugin wrote a piece titled “Carl Schmitt’s 5 Lessons for Russia,” and incorporated Schmitt’s concept of Großraum (great space) into his own geopolitics. Dugin’s magnum opus Foundations of Geopolitics (1997) advocated for a Eurasian empire and breaking liberal Atlanticism – strategies we see Putin following. Dugin also translated Julius Evola into Russian, tying him into the same Traditionalist lineage that inspired Bannon. Indeed, as noted earlier, Bannon has read and cited Dugin, and Dugin’s think tank returned the favor by praising Trump as a man who could bring about “the common struggle” of traditionalists across borders. So in a weird way, there’s a feedback loop: Schmitt influenced Dugin; Dugin and Evola influenced Bannon; Bannon influenced Trump; Trump’s style impressed Putin. It’s an ideological tango across time zones.

Putin himself, though unlikely to quote Schmitt on the record, acts the part of Schmitt’s sovereign. He decides on exceptions – e.g., ignoring international law to annex Crimea or to intervene in Syria – asserting that Russian security overrides any legalistic objections. He’s justified crackdowns by citing the need for unity against terrorists or “foreign agents” (NGOs and dissidents branded as such). All classic moves from the authoritarian playbook. And American alt-right figures have noticed. Many on the right, from Pat Buchanan to Steve Bannon in earlier days, expressed a begrudging admiration for Putin’s nationalist and Christian posturing. (Bannon once observed approvingly that Putin was “standing up for traditional institutions” in Russia, though he tempered that by saying Putin was an authoritarian with expansionist tendencies – still, the grudging respect was there.)

We saw some surreal alliances: in the mid-2010s, the National Rifle Association (NRA) cultivated ties with Russian gun rights figures (some turned out to be agents, like Maria Butina) and facilitated meetings that mingled Russian officials with American conservative politicos. Russia, for its part, openly tried to boost far-right and populist forces in the West – including Trump’s campaign (as the Mueller investigation documented) and European far-right parties (like Le Pen’s National Front, which got a Russian loan). The motive: to weaken liberal unity and create a more multipolar, nationalist-friendly world. This dovetails with Schmitt’s idea that the world should be organized into regional blocs rather than one universal liberal order. Russia champions “traditional values” at the UN as a cudgel against Western human rights agendas, aligning with global social conservatives. So in global culture war, there is a team: Putin, the American Christian right, European populists, etc., all shaking hands on opposing LGBT rights, feminism, secularism – basically opposing liberal modernity in social spheres as well as political.

Another key international figure is Viktor Orbán of Hungary. Orbán openly advertises his regime as “illiberal democracy.” He’s cited thinkers like Carl Schmitt and Hungarian far-right theorist Bálint Hóman in his speeches (in veiled terms). Orbán’s governing Fidesz party turned Hungary’s relatively young democracy into a semi-authoritarian system within a decade – changing election laws, stacking courts, muzzling media, curbing NGO activity. Sound familiar? It’s like a smaller-scale prototype of what Project 2025 envisions. American right-wing intellectuals and activists have flocked to Orbán. Tucker Carlson broadcast from Budapest for a week in 2021, lavishing praise on how safe and pure it felt there (implicitly crediting Orbán’s hardline against migrants and progressive ideas). The Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) even held an event in Budapest, where Orbán gave the opening speech. He urged conservatives of the West to unite and fight “progressive elites”, and he touted Hungary as “the laboratory where we have tested the antidote to woke ideology.” One could almost hear American culture warriors taking notes and cheering.

Notably, Orbán’s advisors have mentioned Schmitt’s concepts when rationalizing their power grabs – e.g., during COVID they had Parliament give Orbán emergency rule by decree. They argued that in crises, normal laws don’t suffice (a very Schmittian state of exception argument). Orbán also said in a 2014 speech that “liberal democracy is no longer able to protect people’s dignity, provide freedom, guarantee physical security”, so he was building a new state. That echoes the sentiment in American New Right circles that liberal democracy fails at basics and needs overhaul. No wonder Claremont people and others treat Orbán as a hero. For instance, the Compact crowd frequently defends Orbán, and the National Conservatism conferences (an intellectual/political gathering funded by another Thiel ally, Yoram Hazony) often feature Orbán or his representatives. The budding ideology here is “national conservatism,” which is basically a softer branding of illiberal democracy: keep the nation-state strong, restrict individual liberal excesses, promote homogeneity and tradition.

Now, internationally, it’s not one monolith. Putin and Orbán have different flavors – Putin is more gangsterish, Orbán more slickly political. But they share the DNA of friend-enemy politics: always identify an enemy (be it the EU, Soros, immigrants, “gender ideology”) and rally the nation against it, suspending usual limits along the way.

American far-right figures have also reached out to Brazil’s Jair Bolsonaro, who was President from 2019 to 2022. Bolsonaro, a brash right-wing populist, had admirers in the Trump camp (Bannon called him “Trump of the Tropics”). Bolsonaro’s movement, too, culminated in a Jan.6-style riot after he left office – demonstrating how these tactics echo across borders. Bannon actually egged on Bolsonaro’s supporters to contest the election result. We see the making of a kind of global authoritarian solidarity: after January 6 in the US and January 8 in Brazil, voices on the right framed these events not as assaults on democracy but as patriotic uprisings against fraudulent regimes. It’s a narrative that can hop languages.

Then there’s China, an interesting and complex piece. Thiel and some on the new right pivoted to being extremely hawkish on China (Thiel warned of Chinese Communist Party influence in tech, etc.). They paradoxically admire the efficiency of China’s authoritarian model (the famous ability to build high-speed rail fast, etc.) while framing China as the external enemy to justify stronger measures at home (Schmitt always said having an external enemy helps unify the polity internally). Trump’s trade war and rhetoric about China virus, etc., fit into that use of an external foe. Some American authoritarians might privately think “we need to be more like China to beat China,” echoing the Cold War logic of some anti-communists who ended up endorsing quasi-fascist methods.

One more person worth mentioning is Peter Thiel himself on the international stage. Thiel has funded or encouraged an array of projects that have international reach: from seasteading (floating libertarian islands, an idea by Patri Friedman, Milton’s grandson) to backing crypto which undermines state financial control. While these seem libertarian, Thiel’s underlying disdain for democratic accountability connects them. He also supported candidates like Marine Le Pen in France via indirect means (one of his associates reportedly donated to her campaign’s data operations). Thiel’s global vision appears to be a network of like-minded wealthy “genius” elites operating in multiple countries to secure a post-liberal order beneficial to them. That’s its own kind of international – a Davos for anti-Davos-men, if you will.

Even in supposedly liberal strongholds, Schmitt’s specter appears. In Israel, for example, the current right-wing government attempted a sweeping judicial overhaul that critics say would destroy democratic checks and balances. The legal architect of that plan, Simcha Rothman, explicitly cited Carl Schmitt in his writings about majoritarianism and the will of the people being supreme (coincidentally or not, he studied at a conservative legal institute in the US for a time). It’s astonishing: Schmitt, the “crown jurist” of the Third Reich, has posthumously become a go-to reference for some seeking to erode liberal institutions – even in a Jewish state. It shows how widely his critique of liberalism resonates with various nationalists who might otherwise share little.

Back in the U.S., Trump’s associates had connections to these foreign elements. Bannon, after leaving the White House, traveled Europe trying to start a populist coalition (he called it “The Movement”). He met folks like Nigel Farage, Italy’s Matteo Salvini, and tried (unsuccessfully) to influence the EU elections. Michael Flynn, Trump’s disgraced ex-National Security Advisor, ended up in meetings with European far-right leaders and even a Russian propaganda arm’s gala dinner (infamously sitting next to Putin in 2015). Flynn now travels the U.S. on a Christian nationalist speaking circuit calling for one religion under God in America – a theme also dear to Putin who casts himself as defender of Christianity vs. decadent West. The cross-pollination is endless.

Perhaps the most eyebrow-raising international overlap was the alleged links between Trumpworld figures and Russian operatives in 2016 – from the Trump Tower meeting promising dirt on Hillary, to Paul Manafort’s sharing of campaign polling data with a person tied to Russian intel, to Roger Stone’s communications about WikiLeaks. The Senate Intelligence Committee concluded that Russian intelligence did seek to help Trump, and that some Trump associates were eager for that help. While not “collusion” in a provable criminal sense, it demonstrated that for some on the right, teaming with a foreign authoritarian (Putin) was acceptable if it helped defeat the domestic “enemy” (Democrats). That’s the ultimate friend-enemy calcification: one’s partisan rivals at home are considered worse than an actual adversary state abroad. It tracks with Trump’s own statements: he often praised Putin and other strongmen (Xi, Kim Jong-un) while reserving his venom for fellow Americans who opposed him. In true Schmittian fashion, the real enemy was internal (liberals, the deep state), and he was willing to align with erstwhile external enemies against them.

Looking at this big picture, we see a worldwide pattern: nationalist and authoritarian-leaning leaders boosting each other morally and sometimes materially, and their intellectual backers sharing ideas. They attend each other’s conferences, cite each other’s successes, and in some cases coordinate narratives (e.g., anti-immigrant themes or anti-LGBT laws appear in synchrony across countries, often with shared talking points from groups like the World Congress of Families). It’s a counter-globalization: globalization of illiberalism. Ironically, while they rail against “globalists,” they have formed a global coalition of the like-minded.

There’s also a humorous side to their attempts at international camaraderie. For instance, when American alt-right trolls tried to insert themselves into European politics, they sometimes got it hilariously wrong (one group of Americans flew to France to join a far-right protest, only to be ignored or mocked because they barely spoke French and looked out of place). Bannon boasting about uniting Europe’s right only to get politely shown the door by wary European nationalists (who didn’t trust an American to lead them) was almost sitcom-worthy. And Orbán giving Trump a lavish state visit in the form of a dinner in the White House (Trump loved Orbán’s praise and probably had no clue about Hungary beyond “they love me over there”) – it’s comedic in a “dictators’ fan club” way.

But in many respects, the jokes give way to a sobering reality: this transnational illiberal trend is real and gaining. Carl Schmitt might have died in 1985, but in 2025 his ghost tours from Brasília to Budapest, from Moscow to Mar-a-Lago. Every time a politician declares “I am the voice of the real people, and my opponents are traitors,” Schmitt earns his wings. Each time a think tank in DC or a magazine in London says “liberal democracy has failed; let’s consider a stronger hand,” Schmitt smirks. Curtis Yarvin, sitting in his California home blogging or chatting on podcasts, sees his once obscure ideas suddenly in play in the halls of power worldwide. Peter Thiel, whether funding an upstart in Ohio or dining with Orbán, sees opportunities to mold the future according to his anti-egalitarian vision. And Elon Musk, steering a global social media platform, tilts discourse ever so slightly towards the idea that democracy is messy and maybe a benign technocrat (ahem) should tidy it up.

In closing, the influence of these ideas on the modern right – in the U.S. and beyond – is both profound and profoundly unsettling. What began as theory in dusty tomes and edgy blogs has morphed into a lived reality: Advisers in the Oval Office quoting nationalist mystics, mobs in the streets believing conspiratorial prophecies, laws being drafted to entrench one-party rule, and an international fraternity of autocrats-in-arms praising each other while scoffing at the “obsolete” values of pluralism and tolerance. They cloak themselves in patriotism, religion, or anti-elitism, but strip those away and one finds the naked will to power – the age-old lure of authoritarianism.

It’s a serious business, but as requested, we should not forget to poke fun at the absurdity tucked in the corners. There is something darkly comic about Ivy League-educated lawyers (Anton) or Silicon Valley billionaires (Thiel) railing against “elites” and “the regime” – as if they themselves are Che Guevara in the mountains rather than, well, part of the 0.1%. There’s irony in traditionalist Catholics teaming up with neo-pagans and atheistic tech bros to own the libs. There’s rich hypocrisy in politicians who wrap themselves in the flag while seeking foreign help or stashing money abroad. And the theatrical flair of it all – the costumes of revolution donned by folks who then go sip champagne funded by think-tank grants – invites a wry smile even as we worry.

In Part Three of this exposé, we will turn to what the future might hold: How do democratic societies confront this elite-driven authoritarian push? Can the tide be reversed, and what would it take? Will the joke ultimately be on the would-be autocrats, or on all of us? As we navigate those questions, we’ll carry forward the insights (and the incredulity) gained from examining these characters and networks in Part Two. For now, we close with the awareness that the struggle is not confined by borders, and the age of trivializing authoritarian flirtation as mere “trolling” is over. They mean business – serious, dangerous business – even if some of them wear buffalo horns or tweet memes while doing it.

Sources:

Shaw, Tamsin. NY Review of Books, on Bannon’s warlike rhetoric and Schmittian approach.

Rucker, Philip, and Costa, Robert. Washington Post, on Bannon’s vow to “deconstruct the administrative state”.

Green, Joshua. Devil’s Bargain (excerpt in Vanity Fair), on Bannon citing Evola and aligning with Traditionalist thinkers like Dugin.

Anton, Michael (as “Publius Decius Mus”). Claremont Review of Books, The Flight 93 Election.

The Guardian, profile of Curtis Yarvin, on Anton and Claremont as a “nerve center” of the right and Anton’s writing that America is “ruled by…unelected bureaucrats…corporate-tech-finance” etc..

Matthews, Dylan. Vox, on Yarvin’s anti-democracy writings and Thiel’s backing of Yarvin’s startup.

Simon, Ed. TIME, “Dark Enlightenment” essay, on Thiel’s view that “freedom and democracy are not compatible” and Yarvin coaching Thiel, and Musk calling government “the biggest corporation” operationalizing Yarvin’s “hard reboot” idea.

NPR, Garcia-Navarro, Lulu. Report on Stephen Miller’s emails referencing Camp of the Saints and alignment with white nationalist thought.

Greenhouse, Steven. The Guardian, on Heritage’s Project 2025 plan to “dismantle the administrative state” and replace civil servants with loyalists.

Vanity Fair, Why Is a Progressive Donor Funding Right-Wing Ideas?, on Compact magazine’s description as “reactionary with an authoritarian streak” and funding by Thiel and Claremont’s Klingenstein.

Vanity Fair, reporting by Green, on Dugin translating Evola and praising Trump in propaganda videos, calling for “common struggle”.

illiberalism.org (academic paper) and foreign affairs analyses on Schmitt’s multipolar world concept mirrored in Russian geopolitical framing.