MAGA and the Myth of Security
America is often celebrated as the land of the free, a place where individualism is sacred, and government overreach is inherently suspect. Yet beneath that mythology lies a growing appetite for control, conformity, and obedience. From MAGA rallies to “Back the Blue” yard signs, many Americans appear to be signaling a desire not for freedom in its true, radical sense, but for a carefully curated order: one in which hierarchy is respected, deviance is punished, and power remains comfortably familiar. This paradox reveals something unsettling: in times of uncertainty, Americans are not simply tolerating authoritarianism; they are longing for it.
This phenomenon cannot be dismissed as fringe or anomalous. The comfort people derive from authoritarian narratives is deeply rooted in American history, psychology, and social structure. To understand why authoritarianism is gaining traction, we must explore the historical foundations that normalized control, the psychological triggers that make people crave order, and the cultural myths that turn subjugation into salvation.
I. Historical Foundations: The American Authoritarian Underbelly
The American origin story often positions the nation as a rebellion against tyranny. But this narrative conveniently erases the foundational authoritarian mechanisms from the start. Settler colonialism required domination, not liberation. The institution of slavery was a system of total control, legally and culturally sanctioned for centuries. “Freedom” in the American context was always conditional, reserved for the right kind of citizen.
The phrase “law and order,” now a mainstay in political rhetoric, has long been used to uphold this hierarchy. During Reconstruction, it was used to suppress Black autonomy. In the Civil Rights era, it became code for maintaining white supremacy under the guise of civility. Programs like COINTELPRO were implemented not to protect democracy, but to dismantle movements that dared challenge the status quo. These historical precedents reveal that the American longing for order has often been a longing for control over marginalized groups.
II. The Psychology of Obedience and Fear
When the world feels unstable, many retreat into structures that promise certainty. Psychological research has long documented this tendency. In Milgram’s famous obedience experiment, participants were willing to inflict harm on others simply because an authority figure told them to. The Stanford Prison Experiment further revealed how quickly ordinary people adopt authoritarian behaviors when given power and permission.
This is not a uniquely American flaw; it is a human one. Yet, in the United States, where the myth of self-determination runs deep, this psychological vulnerability is rarely acknowledged. Economic insecurity, demographic shifts, and cultural upheaval have created fertile ground for fear, and fear makes people susceptible to authoritarianism. Control becomes a substitute for safety. Obedience becomes a balm for uncertainty.
Terror management theory suggests that when people are reminded of their mortality or insignificance, they cling more tightly to systems that provide identity and meaning. In a rapidly changing society, authoritarian narratives offer that comfort. They tell people who the enemy is. They assign moral clarity. They promise restoration, even if that restoration requires repression.
III. MAGA as a Symbolic Security Blanket
The MAGA movement is often criticized for its bombast, racism, and disregard for democratic norms. But it also deserves analysis as an emotional phenomenon. “Make America Great Again” is less a policy platform than a nostalgic appeal, an invitation to return to a time when white, Christian, heterosexual men occupied unchallenged positions of power.
In that sense, MAGA functions as a symbolic security blanket. It provides followers with a story about why their lives feel unstable, and it offers a villain to blame: immigrants, feminists, Black activists, the liberal elite. The movement bypasses complexity and nuance in favor of righteous anger and clear binaries. You are either a patriot or a traitor. You either support the flag or you hate America.
This binary thinking is not incidental, it is essential to authoritarian comfort. Strongman politics thrive on emotional simplicity. They reduce existential fear into digestible slogans and moral theater. Trumpism, in particular, offered millions of people something democracy often cannot: the illusion of control over a chaotic world.
IV. Law, Order, and the Fetish of Punishment
In the American imagination, justice is not restorative, it is retributive. Our legal system is designed not to heal but to punish, and the public often takes pride in that. The explosion of the prison-industrial complex, the militarization of the police, and the routine criminalization of poverty are not deviations from the norm, they are the logical outcome of a society that equates order with violence.
This cultural orientation is reflected not just in institutions, but in entertainment. Americans’ television preferences are a mirror to their deepest values and anxieties. Week after week, shows like Cops, Law & Order, FBI, and CSI dominate prime-time ratings. The formula is consistent and familiar: a crime is committed, the system responds, and justice is swiftly delivered: often by force, always by authority. These shows rarely question the legitimacy of the justice system. Instead, they affirm it, offering emotional closure through punishment and reinforcing the fantasy that control is both possible and morally necessary.
The sheer volume and popularity of these programs reveal a kind of national ritual. Viewers are not just entertained; they are comforted. Each episode reassures them that someone is in charge, that bad people are being hunted down, and that order is being restored. Even when the system bends the rules, it is portrayed as doing so for the greater good. The cops are flawed but noble, the prosecutors are overworked but righteous, and the criminals are almost always deserving of what they get.
This narrative helps explain why so many Americans find solace in the phrase “law and order.” It is not merely a political slogan, it is an emotional need. It reassures those who feel powerless that someone, somewhere, is taking control. The “law and order” narrative becomes a moral compass, pointing people away from systemic critique and toward personal vengeance disguised as justice.
This is where authoritarian comfort becomes most insidious. Even when the system disproportionately harms the working class, its punitive nature feels like evidence of functionality. As long as someone is being punished, many feel the world is working as it should.
This fetishization of punishment also reinforces racial hierarchies. Whiteness, in this framework, becomes synonymous with order, and Blackness with threat. Policing, then, is not about protection but containment. The comfort derived from this system is not neutral, it is racialized, gendered, and deeply violent.
V. Media, Propaganda, and the Manufacturing of Control
Authoritarian comfort is not just psychological, it is manufactured. Right-wing media outlets specialize in fear and repetition. They present a curated reality in which threats are constant, enemies are everywhere, and only strong, unwavering leadership can protect the homeland. The goal is not to inform but to reassure: your fear is valid, your rage is justified, your obedience is noble.
Social media algorithms amplify this effect, creating echo chambers that reward outrage and punish doubt. The result is a culture that confuses emotion with truth and intensity with credibility. Propaganda becomes a feedback loop, one in which people willingly participate because it feels good to be certain.
Even centrist and liberal media, while less overt, often prioritize order over justice. Calls for “civility,” “unity,” or “bipartisanship” often serve to neutralize radical demands and protect institutional power. In this sense, the desire for control spans the political spectrum, it simply wears different costumes.
VI. The Authoritarian Left? A Complicating Mirror
It is tempting to frame authoritarianism as a purely right-wing pathology, but that would be dishonest. Elements of the left can also veer toward control, through moral absolutism, rigid language policing, and purity tests that prioritize ideological alignment over coalition building.
These tendencies often arise from legitimate frustration. When progress is slow or compromised, some seek the certainty of dogma over the messiness of dialogue. But this, too, reflects a desire for order, a refusal to engage with contradiction and imperfection. The left’s version of authoritarian comfort may be more intellectualized, but it still reveals a craving for dominance rather than transformation.
VII. Toward Liberation: Discomfort as Freedom
If authoritarianism is rooted in the desire for comfort and control, then the antidote must be discomfort. True liberation requires uncertainty, risk, and vulnerability. It requires us to reject binary thinking and accept that justice is not always emotionally satisfying. It requires us to give up the illusion that someone else, be it a politician, a cop, or a pundit, can make us feel whole.
This is a hard sell in a culture addicted to certainty. But the alternative is worse. When we outsource our discomfort to authoritarian systems, we also outsource our agency. We become complicit in our own subjugation, trading freedom for the mirage of safety.
To resist authoritarian comfort, we must become literate in ambiguity. We must learn to sit with tension and complexity without retreating into dogma or domination. This is not just a political task, it is a spiritual one. It demands that we remake ourselves, not just our institutions.
Conclusion: The Cost of Comfort
Authoritarianism is not simply a structure imposed from above, it is a longing that rises from below. It emerges in the moments when people feel lost, threatened, or abandoned, and it offers a seductively simple solution: obey, and all will be well.
But the price of that comfort is high. It is paid by the marginalized, by the dissidents, and eventually, by everyone who forgets how to question power. If we truly value freedom, we must learn to value discomfort, uncertainty, and dissent. Not as burdens, but as the necessary costs of living in a society that honors complexity over control.