Germany

The Weimar Republic, founded in 1919, was a fragile experiment, one born from the ashes of an empire and deeply divided across every aspect of society—politics, religion, class, occupation, and region.1 These divisions weren’t just political; they were woven into the very fabric of daily life, what historians have come to call “political confessionalization.” Social environments—neighbors, churches, and media—became ideological echo chambers that shaped voting behaviors. Once people belonged to a political tribe, they rarely left it unless forced by dramatic shifts in their circumstances.2

The origins of these divisions trace back to Bismarck’s era. The failed March Revolution of 1848-1849 paved the way for a regime that was authoritarian at its core, yet paradoxically offered universal male suffrage. This contradiction—power from above, democracy from below—led to the formation of the first political parties. These parties weren’t just ideological organizations; they were ways of life. Over time, they built newspapers, clubs, and societies that reinforced their members’ loyalty. By the time war broke out in 1914, the politicization of German life was a siege, locking citizens into ideological fortresses.3

Even the tumult of the 1920s, when revolution and economic depression shook the nation, could not fully break those walls. Voters stayed within the lines that social and political life had drawn for them. While parties changed, and even as the Nazis surged to prominence, the underlying divisions of Weimar Germany remained stubbornly in place. The intensity of these divisions grew in tandem with national crises—each downturn, each election further deepened the trenches of polarization.4

The Social Democrats (SDP) initially commanded widespread support, though they quickly lost ground, first to the Independents (USPD), and later to the Communists (KPD). After peaking in 1919, the socialist vote stabilized at 35-40%. Meanwhile, the Catholic vote, centered on the Centre party (Zentrum), held steady at around 15%. The Nazis capitalized on this entrenched polarization, finding strong support among the Protestant middle class. These lines hardened, forming seemingly impenetrable political blocs as Weimar struggled through its volatile years.5

The divisions created by political socialization were further amplified by Germany’s rural-urban split, pitting cosmopolitan Berliners and other urban dwellers against the more conservative countryside.6 And the Protestant, Catholic, and socialist factions seemed to operate as distinct, insular worlds.

Hot-button issues—like antisemitism—helped to define and divide these worlds. While Communists occasionally echoed antisemitic rhetoric, it was entrenched in the nationalist right. Single-issue voters aren’t new, and antisemitism acted as a litmus test, much like modern issues like abortion or immigration in the U.S., pushing voters into one camp or another. The hatred became both a political tool and a way of defining who belonged in the nationalist vision of Germany’s future.7

Weimar Germany often had a party for every imaginable interest group. But instead of fostering a broad coalition, this system incentivized factions to legislate only for their own narrow base. Farmers, industrialists, employers, and workers separated into distinct parties, each one eyeing the others with suspicion.8 Cross-party collaboration, unsurprisingly, became rare, particularly as the Depression deepened and intensified these divides.9

All political factions, whether democratic or antidemocratic, shared a refusal to compromise. The bitter vitriol of the political climate became the air that everyone breathed, ensuring that few even attempted to build bridges between camps.10 Friedrich Ebert’s tenure as Chancellor epitomized this failure of compromise, as his attempts to reach out to the nostalgic right—yearning for monarchy and empire—were met with vicious attacks from the right-wing press. It became clear that compromise was seen not as a virtue, but as a sign of weakness in a polarized society.11

The September 1930 election marked a turning point. The Nazis, previously on the fringe with just twelve seats, surged to 107, stunning the nation. Commentators who once dismissed them as a lunatic fringe were forced to confront a new reality—Nazism was no longer an aberration, but a growing force. The Berliner Tageblatt called it "monstrous" that "six million four hundred thousand voters in this highly civilized country” supported “the commonest, hollowest, and crudest charlatanism.” A State Party press release lamented that "radicalism has defeated reason," but clung to the hope that voters would return to the "constructive center." That hope would not materialize.12

September, 1930

The rise of fascism across Europe in this period was often fueled by the success of the socialist left. The middle class, feeling cornered and seeing communism and socialism as indistinguishable threats, reacted in fear. The Nazis did not emerge in a vacuum—they were a direct reaction to the perceived threat of social upheaval, intensified by the Depression. Germany was not alone in this; many Europeans looked at the young Soviet Union with dread, their worst nightmares personified in the Communist threat.13

Germany’s political gridlock reached a new height in May 1932, during a Reichstag session that devolved into chaos. A Nazi member insulted a Communist speaker, spitting, “Your stupidity is priceless.” Communist leader Ernst Torgler shot back, “You have to hold your trap,” while another Nazi chimed in, “You’ll be a Cossack General!” Scenes like these became the new normal, a collapse of basic decorum in a country famed for its disciplined order.14

Amid the disorder, some states actually voiced their willingness to secede, though none were serious enough to actually succeed.15 The true threat came from the extremist parties on both the right and left, whose legal teams were well-trained in exploiting trials, having spent the last decade turning legal proceedings into public spectacles.16 Defendants on the right, claiming to act in the name of national ideals, often gained public sympathy. Meanwhile, prosecutions of the left were celebrated as victories for the nation’s moral order.17

Kurt Schumacher, a Social Democrat from West Prussia, famously remarked, “The whole National Socialist agitation is a constant appeal to the inner swine in human beings. If we recognize anything at all about National Socialism, it is the fact that it has succeeded, for the first time in German politics, in completely mobilizing human stupidity.”18 Irrationality had Germany in a vise-grip.

In the chaos only Adolf Hitler stood to gain, convinced that only a strong leader—directly elected—could govern Germany.19 As social institutions became increasingly politicized,20 fears of the Communist Party's rapid growth surged. Between 1929 and 1932, Communist membership tripled from 117,000 to 360,000, largely drawn from unemployed workers devastated by the Depression.21 Their electoral strength reflected this growth—a surge from 62 seats in 1924 to 77 in 1930, fueled by Ernst Thälmann’s fiery rhetoric and twice-failed presidential bids. Thälmann put fear into the hearts of many Germans.22

For the middle class, the Communist threat was not just a specter—it felt imminent. They feared that the Comintern—the Communist International—was orchestrating strikes, demonstrations, and revolutions across Europe.23 In their eyes, social democracy became indistinguishable from communism. To the Communists, however, social democracy was the real enemy, a capitalist ally blocking the path to revolution.24 "All capitalist regimes, whether parliamentary or dictatorial, were defined as fascist."25

The Communists refused to compromise, even if it meant siding with their enemies to bring down the Republic.26 In 1931, following orders from Moscow, Communists shockingly supported a Nazi-led referendum to oust the Social Democratic government in Prussia. Though it failed due to low turnout, it fractured the labor movement and made organized resistance to fascism harder. Strategic miscalculations due to the uncompromising stance of the Communists served only to weaken the left as a bulwark against the Nazis.27

Communist leaders labeled every Social Democratic government “fascist,” accusing them of betraying the revolution by supporting capitalist reforms. Workers should prioritize revolution, and any leader who deviated from that line was swiftly removed.28 But the Communists' power was largely an illusion, a mere spoiler in coalition-building. And because they clung tightly to their faith in an imminent revolution they were blinded to the real imminent threat—Nazism.29 The middle class, meanwhile, warmed on the Nazis, who promised to restore order without dismantling capitalism and creating a "Soviet Germany."30

As polarization deepened, some political factions drifted toward authoritarianism. The Catholic community, through the Centre Party, began leaning toward authoritarian rule as a way to protect the Church’s interests from the Communist threat. Prelate Ludwig Kaas led the Centre Party’s shift in this direction.31In 1930, Württemberg’s Minister-President, Eugen Bolz, openly declared, “I have long been of the opinion that the Parliament cannot solve severe domestic political problems. If a dictator for ten years were a possibility—I would want it.”32 Even Germany’s Protestants yearned for a strongman, and for them, that man was Hitler.

Hitler relentlessly attacked the Weimar Republic for its failures—division, economic mismanagement, and humiliation after the war—offering himself as the only solution to restore Germany’s greatness.33 His populist message, rooted in grievance and the promise of national restoration, resonated powerfully with the Protestant majority. The Nazis, more than any other party, managed to unite Germany’s fractured social groups under a populist movement. Their power came from their ability to transcend class divides, harnessing a shared sense of grievance to pull disparate factions together under one unifying banner—sporting the old Empire’s red-white-black and emblazoned with a swastika.34

By September 1930, only negative majorities were possible in the Reichstag.35 This gridlock might feel familiar in today’s context of factional divisions, such as those seen in Congress, where hardline groups like the House Freedom Caucus can block their own party’s legislation. Like Weimar’s Reichstag, modern democratic institutions, when seized by factionalism, decay from within.

Legislative paralysis set in. After a February 1931 walkout by the far left and far right, the Reichstag adjourned for six months. Soon it was completely paralyzed. It only sat for three days in the latter half of 1932.36 By then, political power had shifted decisively to President Hindenburg and his close advisors. The Weimar experiment was on life support.37

The July 1932 elections offered one last glimpse of hope for the democratic system, though it was fleeting. When the votes had been counted, the Nazis had doubled their seats to 230, becoming the largest party, though not achieving a majority. The Reichstag, however, was now undeniably polarized: 13.4 million votes for Social Democrats and Communists versus 13.8 million for the Nazis. And the center was collapsing under the weight of extremism.38

July, 1932

The government continued its authoritarian slide as von Papen’s minority regime clamped down on the Centre Party and Social Democrats. Hitler, despite these losses, continued to refuse any coalition he didn’t lead. People probably wouldn’t take the Führer—the leader—seriously if he’s not actually in charge. Some in the Nazi Party feared their influence was on the wane.39 And to contain the Nazis, there were even local attempts to form coalitions between the Social Democrats and Communists, but they repeatedly failed in their efforts to protect democracy.40

The Nazis' electoral success in July therefore ironically came at a cost just four months later, in the November 1932 elections. Their continued unwillingness to join a coalition in compromise seemed to have lost them votes. Now their vote share dropped to 11.7 million and their seats fell to 196. Yet they remained the largest party. The Communists, now with 100 seats, nearly equaled the Social Democrats.41

November, 1932

The Reichstag had become completely unmanageable: 100 Communists clashed with 196 Nazis, both intent on destroying democracy. The government was also becoming increasingly authoritarian. Franz von Papen’s minority government had abandoned compromise and had started to actively suppress the Centre Party and the Social Democrats.42

Coalition-building efforts, already strained, now collapsed spectacularly. After working to remove Papen from the chancellorship in favor of himself, General Kurt von Schleicher took a new tack. His aim was a "cross-front" (Querfront) coalition—bringing together Social Democrats, labor unions, and Gregor Strasser’s left-wing faction of the Nazis—around populist economic policies. If successful, he might split the Nazis. He appointed Günther Gereke as Reichskommissar for Employment Creation. Schleicher’s plan, inspired by Gereke, was ambitious, aiming to employ hundreds of thousands through public works programs. Reminiscent of FDR’s later New Deal, it was innovative for its time, though ahead of the political climate.43

Schleicher believed this coalition could stabilize the Reichstag, convinced he could form a majority.44 But he underestimated Hitler and overestimated Strasser. By December 5th, both the Nazis and the Social Democrats announced they would not “tolerate” Schleicher’s government. The Social Democrats even plotted a no-confidence motion, not in the hope of passing it, but likely to avoid an election that might empower the Communists.45

After resigning, Schleicher wrote to a friend, expressing his hope to “promote the coming together of all constructive-minded people, no matter where they come from, on the basis of new ideas.” He continued, “I am convinced that the time of agitation and of parties is fast disappearing and that the immediate future calls for men who are prepared to come into government with courage and a sense of responsibility.”46 His vision, however, came too late.

Weimar’s electoral system of proportional representation meant that voters chose a party, and seats were allocated based on the percentage of votes received—30% of the vote roughly meant 30% of the seats.47 This system allowed fringe parties to gain representation but they rarely exceeded 15% of the vote. Since the fringe was a minority, the largest parties seldom sought their support when forming a government.48 Proportional representation is often blamed for the Nazis' rise, but this view is too simplistic. A first-past-the-post system, like that in the United States, “might well have given the Nazi Party even more seats” in Weimar’s final elections.49

Hitler eventually got what he wanted. Owing in part to the continued inability to form a majority government, Hindenburg finally appointed him Chancellor, forming a Nazi-Nationalist coalition. Hitler also got his other main demand: another election, to acquire a majority and, because of it, a mandate.

In the March 1933 election, Nazis and Nationalists secured a majority, though they still fell short of the two-thirds needed for constitutional changes.50 Still, nearly two-thirds of voters now supported parties hostile to Weimar democracy. The The Nazis now held Germany’s future in their hands. The remaining moderates and centrists had been decimated; the political center had imploded, just as the Nazis and Communists intended.51

After the election, the fragile remnants of the democratic process continued to unravel. The burning of the Reichstag on February 28, 1933, just days before voters went to the polls, provided the pretext Hitler needed to consolidate power. Eighty-one Communist deputies were arrested and prevented from taking their seats. The Reichstag, now without a strong opposition, became a rubber stamp for Nazi authority. Germany’s descent into dictatorship had become irreversible.52

The Depression had radicalized the electorate, eroding moderate support and polarizing politics between “Marxists” and the middle class, who increasingly turned further to the right.53 By 1933, Germany’s political center had collapsed. Where once three-quarters of voters supported the Weimar coalition in 1919, that support had almost completely reversed by 1933. Democracy’s flickering flame had been extinguished.54

America

As in the Weimar Republic, the United States finds itself on the precipice, gripped by historic levels of polarization. Our divide, however, is not entirely ideological. Like Germany, much of today’s polarization begins with the elites—party leaders, media figures, and influential voices—but its effects ripple outward into all aspects of society. Where once Americans could disagree on politics without hating one another, today’s political divides have become deeply personal, almost tribal.55

Political scientists call this "affective political polarization," a phenomenon where voters increasingly distrust and even despise those on the other side. Over the past 40 years, this form of polarization has accelerated, driven not just by differences in policy, but by emotional, identity-based fears of what the other side represents. We see the same dynamic in today’s political discourse, where emotions run high, and compromise feels like betrayal.56

Yet what is striking about American polarization is that it isn’t confined to the corridors of power. The American public, too, has become deeply divided—often more due to misunderstandings about the other side than to true ideological differences. What makes this polarization even more worrying is the speed at which it is occurring. Older Americans, in particular, are polarizing faster than younger generations (which is particularly troubling since the younger demographic has less turnout), and this shift is happening more quickly in the U.S. than in any other Western democracy.57 It suggests that the forces driving our polarization are deeply domestic, born of our own dysfunctions rather than external forces.58

This acceleration has intensified partisan warfare, with Republicans moving further right than Democrats have moved left, creating an asymmetry that undermines political compromise.59

Despite this growing divide, there are still areas of overlap on key policy issues.60 But in a climate charged by emotional polarization, this common ground is easily overshadowed. The very structure of our political system—a winner-takes-all model—only worsens this divide. When 50.1% of the vote can win the whole district, the losing 49.9% feel completely excluded. This dynamic intensifies the sense of alienation.61

Today, most U.S. senators are elected by just 17% of the population, and by 2040, 30% of Americans are expected to control 68% of the Senate.62 The Electoral College, designed to favor smaller states, has further skewed representation by allowing a candidate to win the presidency without securing the popular vote. This structural imbalance fuels the growing dissatisfaction, creating fertile ground for deeper polarization.63

The roots of today’s political conflict extend back decades, with polarization escalating during key moments in modern history. In 1995-96, a standoff between President Bill Clinton and Republican Speaker Newt Gingrich over a spending bill led to government shutdowns. This marked the beginning of an era in which partisan warfare increasingly trumped governance.64

The rise of the Tea Party Caucus in 2011 only deepened these divides. Moderate Republicans were replaced by hardline partisans, making cross-party cooperation nearly impossible.65 Under the Obama and Trump presidencies, these divisions only solidified. Trump, in particular, accelerated polarization by purging moderates from the Republican Party, reshaping it as a reflection of his personal ideology—one increasingly centered on grievance and vengeance.

The consequences of polarization are felt not only in policy but in personal relationships. The American public is increasingly polarized along lines of identity—race, religion, gender, and sexual orientation—all of which reinforce a form of sectarian-tribal politics.66 The role of identity in politics has been a central feature for the last 50 years.67 Surveys show that Republicans are more likely to oppose family members working in journalism or higher education, while Democrats are wary of relatives joining law enforcement or the military. Republicans report feeling more uncomfortable with journalists in their family than with people who identify as gay or atheist. This deep mistrust of core institutions—media, military, academia—creates a society where individuals are divided not just by political party, but by the shape of their lives. It’s a society divided by which institutions we trust to shape our truth.68

Politicians have increasingly exploited these identity differences to gain support. Identity politics, not policy debates, has become their most powerful tool for winning votes. In fact, this focus on identity politics often has more impact than crucial issues like inequality, which are further reinforced through tactics such as voter ID laws and geographic sorting—through gerrymandering, for example.69

And polarization in the U.S. is not solely driven by social media, as some believe, but by the entire media ecosystem.70 Partisan cable news shows, talk radio, and selective media consumption contribute significantly to the divide. Conservatives, in particular, have embraced mass self-indoctrination, building intricate ideologies around gun rights, anti-abortion stances, alt-right beliefs, and anti-“cancel culture” rhetoric.71 This selective media consumption further isolates voters, creating echo chambers where alternative viewpoints are rejected outright. This is not just nationalism; it’s the rejection of any independent or dissenting sources of information.72 For many on the right, the media is viewed not just as biased, but as part of a larger conspiracy undermining their values.

Trump’s presidency was defined by division. He attacked Democrats, the media, and even his own government, branding them part of the “deep state” plotting against him.73 Polarization was not a side effect—he made it a central feature of American politics during his tenure. Trump remains the only U.S. president in Gallup polling history to never achieve majority support during his term. And he was the first president since Herbert Hoover to lose the White House, the House, and the Senate in just four years.74 His presidency ended not with calls for unity, but with calls to storm the Capitol.

Even in defeat, Trump’s refusal to acknowledge Biden’s victory underscored the dangers of affective polarization. By skipping Biden’s inauguration, he became the first president since Andrew Johnson in 1869 to do so—the first election after the Civil War.75 His decision not to offer Biden the traditional wishes for success during the inaugural speech was deliberate.76 The symbolism was unmistakable: political norms, the traditions of peaceful transition, could no longer be taken for granted.

When Joe Biden took office, he directly addressed this polarization, calling for an end to "this uncivil war that pits red against blue, rural versus urban, conservative versus liberal."77 But the forces driving polarization were not swayed by calls for unity. The very structures of American politics—rewarding division and punishing collaboration—continue to fuel the fire. Now, winning is everything and compromise amounts to surrender.78 Even adversarial actions in support of democracy can be viewed as power grabs by the opposing party.79

This zero-sum mentality is perilous. A survey in 2019 found that 58% of Americans, including 25% of Republicans, believe that Trump’s MAGA movement threatens the democratic foundations of the country. The divisions Trump has caused in the GOP itself are clear: 60% of Republicans do not view MAGA as representing the majority of their party. But MAGA candidates continue to win primaries, and Donald Trump is the undeniable leader of the party.80 Even if Trump fades from the political stage, the ideology he has shaped—often called "Trumpism"—is now deeply embedded within the Republican Party. This is not a problem of one man but of a system transformed.81

The Republican Party’s shift has been more extreme than the Democrats' corresponding move to the left, creating a significant asymmetry in political discourse. One expert observes that moderate Republicans have become “nearly extinct,” replaced by a more radical base embracing anti-democratic beliefs.82 This radicalization is not just a matter of fringe politics—it now represents a core ideology within the party. The rise of the MAGA movement has brought this to the forefront, and studies show that MAGA Republicans are more likely to endorse racist and delusional beliefs than other Republicans by wide margins.83 This shift has made the GOP into fertile ground for extremism, where bad actors can plant the seeds for fascism.

The MAGA makeover poses long-term risks to American democracy. The Republican Party is no longer simply moving further right—it’s embracing an increasingly authoritarian worldview. Scholars have long warned that severe polarization weakens democratic institutions and opens the door to rising authoritarianism.84 When leaders who seek compromise are systematically pushed out and those supporting an anti-democratic agenda are rewarded, the entire system becomes dysfunctional. This erosion is not just happening within one party—it reflects a broader trend in American politics, where collaboration is no longer viewed as a viable path forward.85

But the danger is not confined to political elites. The mindset of the electorate has also changed, with many voters now favoring authoritarian solutions over democratic processes. A common misconception is that individuals who hold views from both sides of the political spectrum are moderates. In reality, these voters, when asked, often show the least attachment to democracy. Rather than supporting Congress or elections, they favor a “strong leader” who can bypass democratic institutions altogether.86 This growing disillusionment with democracy, especially among those feeling "disgruntled" or alienated, is a deeply troubling trend. Studies show that these voters are “only very loosely attached to democracy”, and their increasing numbers pose a profound threat to the stability of the system.87

As the 2024 election looms, the risks of polarization have become glaringly apparent. Experts predict that partisan gerrymandering will intensify, with nearly 97% anticipating it will shape the electoral map before the next election.88 Additionally, there are growing concerns that partisan officials could attempt to overturn election results, further eroding public trust in democratic processes. The potential for local officials to refuse certification of vote counts, state legislatures naming alternative electors, or even Congress refusing to certify results have all been identified by experts as anti-democratic threats that loom on our horizon.89

The enduring legacy of Trumpism, combined with a growing embrace of authoritarianism within the GOP, presents a challenge to American democracy unlike any seen in modern history. Peter Turchin, a scientist specializing in the dynamics of historical societies, has warned that the Republican Party could become a “true revolutionary party,” one willing to break democratic norms to secure power.90 This shift is especially dangerous because it empowers politicians who thrive on polarization and division. By framing their opponents as not merely wrong, but immoral or dangerous, they stoke fear and deepen the cycle of polarization. This strategy ignores the fact that affective polarization is often a deliberate political tool, benefiting those who capitalize on fear and mistrust.91

The threat is not just external—it comes from within the political system itself. Affective polarization, as experts suggest, is driven more by fear of the other party than simple dislike. When citizens believe that the opposing side will use power to undermine democracy, they become more willing to support antidemocratic actions within their own party. This mentality creates a self-perpetuating cycle, where extreme measures are justified as a necessary defense of democracy, even as those measures undermine its very foundation. The belief that losing an election means losing the country itself has pushed many to support actions that could dismantle the democracy they claim to protect.92

In 2016, some conservatives framed the election as a "Flight 93" moment, referring to the passengers who stormed the cockpit of the fourth hijacked plane on 9/11. The message was clear: we elect Trump—rush the cockpit—or die. This rhetoric has only escalated in the years since. Trump himself has now said, “This is the final battle. They know it. I know it. You know it. Everybody knows that this is it. Either they win or we win. And if they win, we no longer have a country.”93

Such language mirrors that dangerous zero-sum mentality which defined the final days of the Weimar Republic, where political polarization and fear led to the collapse of democracy. If this cycle of polarization and fear continues unchecked, the United States may find itself confronting a similar fate. The lessons of Weimar Germany loom large, reminding us that democracy can die not with a coup, but with the slow, steady erosion of norms, trust, and compromise.