Chris Abraham

From about 2012 to 2020, labels like racist, fascist, Nazi, homophobe, and transphobe functioned as social kill switches. If you were tagged, you could lose your job, your platform, your friends, and your reputation. Those words still carried rarity and moral gravity, so people feared them.

But from 2020 through 2023 and into 2024, they were used too often, too loosely, and too selectively. Every disagreement became bigotry. Every policy became fascism. Every boundary became violence. And then even the most extreme accusation, pedophile, entered the rotation, not just as a serious legal charge but as a rhetorical weapon.

People watched obvious bad actors on their own “side” get protected while opponents were accused, smeared, and destroyed for far less. That taught everyone the labels were no longer about truth or protecting victims. They were about power.

Once that realization landed, shame stopped working.

So the language escalated. Racist became fascist. Fascist became Nazi. Nazi became genocidal. Genocidal became pedophile. What used to be the nuclear option became just another insult in an online argument. And when the nuclear option is routine, it no longer scares anyone.

The tragedy is that the crimes never went away. Racism, authoritarianism, and child abuse are still real. Epstein proved that powerful people can hide horrific things for decades. But when the words meant to expose and stop those crimes are used casually for politics, they lose their force. When every alarm is pulled for tribal warfare, nobody runs when there is a real fire.

People are not tired of accountability. They are tired of moral blackmail. And once people stop believing the labels, even the truth struggles to be heard. 🔥

You’re right, Britain, British, English people, Irish people, Scottish people, Welsh people, we Americans have no natural spidey sense when it comes to having the Mickey taken out of us or getting the piss taken out of us. We’re extremely serious and almost never recognize humor or piss-taking or Mickey-taking when it’s right up in our grill. I finally feel compassion for the denizens of the British Isles for having to deal with me during the halcyon days at UEA Norwich. I mean, I knew I was always thin-skinned, but I’m still surprised by just how thin-skinned I was. Basically, any British person who can have the Mickey taken out of them or the piss taken out of them without flying into a rage is someone Americans don’t really start to resemble until we’re about 50.

The First Amendment’s limits appear when speech turns into “fighting words” (direct, face-to-face insults likely to cause immediate violence), “true threats” (serious intent to commit violence), “incitement” (provoking imminent lawless action), or substantial disruption of government operations, allowing restrictions on how, when, and where speech occurs (time, place, manner) but not what is said, unless it falls into these unprotected categories. Screaming in someone’s face can cross the line into unprotected fighting words or true threats, while blocking federal operations infringes on the government’s ability to function, even if the message is political.

I guess we’ll see where the line is over the next months.

When words like “Nazi” and “Hitler” get used to describe everything from bureaucratic enforcement to genocide, it creates a dangerous moral distortion.

On one side, those words historically mean organized extermination, mass shootings, and people disappearing into graves. On the other, they are often used today to mean cruelty, unfairness, or the violation of social justice norms. Those are not the same claim, but they are treated as if they were.

That gap matters because of how it affects behavior. If someone is being accused of being equivalent to genocidal killers, and they know they are not lining people up and shooting them, then a strange logic can take over: anything short of mass murder starts to feel morally irrelevant.

There appears to be a wide zone of “still not Nazi” territory where increasingly harsh actions feel justified, because the ultimate accusation has already been made.

At the same time, if even small acts of enforcement or inconvenience are described as “disappearances,” “kidnapping,” or “literal Nazism,” then language loses its ability to distinguish between levels of harm. Everything becomes maximal, even when the reality is not.

That mismatch creates a feedback loop. One side believes it is calling out injustice and cruelty. The other hears itself being accused of genocide and responds by hardening, not softening, because the accusation has already gone as far as it can go. When moral language stops grading severity, it stops restraining power.

In a world where real people are being arrested, detained, and sometimes killed, that collapse of meaning is not just rhetorical. It shapes how far force is pushed, and how little incentive there is to pull back.

What keeps getting lost in this argument is agency.

The people who confront ICE are not confused about what they are doing. They know these agents carry weapons. They know confrontations can turn lethal. They know they are stepping into a space where the state has a monopoly on force. And yet they show up anyway.

That matters.

You can believe their cause is destructive. You can think their worldview is warped. You can even think their actions are reckless, dangerous, or morally wrong. But it is intellectually dishonest to pretend they are merely misinformed or accidental participants in a system they don’t understand.

They are making a conscious wager with death.

That doesn’t make them wise. It doesn’t make them virtuous. It doesn’t mean they are right. It means they are not cowards.

There is a difference between bravery and goodness. There is a difference between courage and correctness. History is full of people who were willing to die for ideas that were terrible. The willingness to face lethal risk is still a form of courage, even when the cause itself is misguided or destructive.

You can reject what they stand for while still acknowledging what they are doing: deliberately stepping into danger, fully aware of the consequences.

That combination of clarity and risk is rare. And it’s why this moment feels volatile. People who believe they are already dead behave very differently than people who think they are safe.

That is what you are actually seeing.

Since when did “living in a free country” mean “living in a safe” or “living in a kind” country. Freedom suggests that everyone is doing their own thing even if and when it doesn’t agree or vibe with your thing. Wait, do you mean “freedom from?” That’s a pretty strong redefinition of the term, but I get it. The State is not your friend.