In 1978, my parents went to Poland, the first foreign trip in each of their lives. When they returned to our home in Moscow, my mother couldn’t stop talking about what they’d seen — not a place but a movie, Bob Fosse’s “Cabaret.” One scene in particular stayed with her. Three friends are returning from a weekend trip. Sleep-deprived, hung over and preoccupied with their sexual and romantic entanglements, they pull over at a roadside cafe. There, a teenager wearing a Hitler Youth uniform starts singing. He is both earnest and, in his brown pants tucked into white knee-high socks, puerile. But after a minute, other young people in uniform join in, and soon all but one customer are standing and singing. The protagonists duck out. They have been pushing Nazism out of their minds, but at this moment they realize that they are in the minority, that life as they’ve been living it is over. The song everyone around them is singing is “Tomorrow Belongs to Me.”
I was 11 when my mother couldn’t stop talking about “Cabaret,” and I was confused. I thought my parents had gone to an actual cabaret and somehow gained an insight into the nature of the Soviet regime. A few years later, after I’d seen the movie myself, I realized my mother was right: That scene is the single most vivid portrayal of what it feels like to live in a society that is falling in line before a totalitarian leader. I experienced this in real life as an adult, when Vladimir Putin came to power in Russia and my world suddenly felt like a chessboard from which an invisible hand was picking off pieces faster than I had thought was possible.
Now, in Donald Trump’s America, I am living through something similar, and it is moving at a faster rate still. For me, it began before the election, when the owners of The Los Angeles Times and The Washington Post decided to pull their papers’ endorsements of Kamala Harris for president. It continued with Mark Zuckerberg remaking Meta to reflect what he called the “cultural tipping point” that was the presidential election; with ABC News handing over millions of dollars in response to one of Trump’s frivolous lawsuits and CBS considering doing the same; and most recently, with the great erasure: of records of trans care for minors provided by hospitals and of diversity-and-inclusion policies at many universities and corporations. Now some universities are quietly retooling their programming in hopes of conforming with expectations that have not yet been clearly laid out.
I am talking not about deletions of pages from government websites, such as those of the White House and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, presumably mandated by newly installed officials; I am talking about actions that individual people or private institutions took pre-emptively, with some measure of free will.
The Yale historian Timothy Snyder has called this “anticipatory obedience.” In his 2017 book “On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century,” lesson No. 1 was “Do not obey in advance.” Those who anticipate the demands of a repressive government and submit to these demands before they are made, Snyder wrote, are “teaching power what it can do.”
Snyder is right, of course, but his admonition makes obeying in advance sound irrational. It is not. In my experience, most of the time, when people or institutions cede power voluntarily, they are acting not so much out of fear but rather on a set of apparently reasonable arguments. These arguments tend to fall into one or more of five categories.
First, the responsibility-for-others argument. In 2004, I assigned and edited an article by a man who had protested Putin’s handling of a hostage crisis at a school in which more than 300 people had died. I was fiddling with the headline when one of the people in charge materialized next to my desk. If you publish that, he warned me, the entire staff of the publishing house might lose their jobs. To the best of my knowledge, the Kremlin had never threatened or even criticized the publishing house for editorial content. (The man in question now says he never tried to stop me.)
The great Russian sociologist Yuri Levada coined the term “collective hostage-taking” to describe the phenomenon when individuals cannot be free to act because of a constant, credible threat of collective punishment. Collective hostage-taking is particularly insidious because it pits different sets of values against each other: My boss, for example, was asking me to weigh the value of one article against the livelihoods of hundreds of people. The article wasn’t published.
The second argument is the higher-purpose argument, which is a close cousin of collective hostage-taking. In 2012, during the winter when more than 150,000 Russians protested against rigged elections and Putin’s intention to assume the presidency for a third term, a popular actress, Chulpan Khamatova, broke ranks with the liberal intelligentsia and came out in support of Putin. Khamatova had co-founded an organization that helped children with cancer. She faced some criticism but said, “If it meant that another hospital was built, I would do the same thing again.” Her dignity was, after all, a small price to pay for saving children’s lives.
I suspect that some American hospital administrators who are discontinuing trans care for young people are using similar logic: To serve their patients, they must protect their federal funding — even if this means that they stop serving another group of patients.
Next comes the pragmatic argument. Rational people do not stand on principle for the sake of principle. They pick their battles. Or so this argument goes. Perhaps this was the logic that led the country’s largest private funder of biomedical research to halt a $60 million diversity program, Target to scrap its D.E.I. goals or ABC News to settle Trump’s libel suit. As cynical as this argument sounds, it too is rooted in values and obligations to others — shareholders, business partners, clients.
There’s also the if-I-don’t-do-it-someone-else-will argument. A few years ago, a couple of journalists who had fled Russia in fear for their lives took an assignment to make a video that looked to me and many others like pure Russian propaganda. When I asked them why they did it, they replied that someone would have done it anyway — and they needed the money. Refusing the assignment wouldn’t have changed anything, so why not? Perhaps this is the logic of the top-tier law firms that have scrambled to hire Trump loyalists and otherwise position themselves as allies of the new administration. Perhaps this is also the logic of those Senate Democrats who have voted for Trump’s cabinet nominees: The nominees would get confirmed anyway, so these senators might as well shore up support in their contested states.
Last, we have the zeitgeist argument. “We are in a new era now,” Zuckerberg observed when he announced that Meta would end its fact-checking program. Companies should have more “masculine energy” and have “a culture that celebrates the aggression” more, he added a few days later, speaking on the Joe Rogan podcast. This kind of argument is the very definition of rational. Societies define sanity as conforming to dominant beliefs and culture. In totalitarian societies, cultural and intellectual rebels are often confined to psychiatric institutions. In the Soviet Union, dissidents were often diagnosed as insane — and by the standards of that society, they were.
There are many good reasons to accommodate budding dictators, and only one reason not to: Anticipatory obedience is a key building block of their power. The autocracies of the 20th century relied on mass terror. Those of the 21st often don’t need to; their subjects comply willingly.
But once an autocracy gains power, it will come for many of the people who quite rationally tried to safeguard themselves and their businesses. That boss from the publishing house is living in exile now, and so is that actress. Of course, many people, including wealthy entrepreneurs, are still living in Putin’s Russia. But they have discovered that to keep themselves and their businesses safe, they have had to cede ever more money and ever more power to the regime — a regime they helped build. Had they withheld obedience in advance, the autocracy that now controls almost every aspect of their lives and their businesses could not have been constructed.
A couple of weeks into Trump’s second term, it can feel as if we are already living in an irreversibly changed country. And yet, my parents, who belonged to the second generation of people born under Soviet totalitarianism — they had never known a different society, and neither had their own parents — experienced a moment of recognition when they saw that scene in “Cabaret,” that moment when a new, dark era has taken hold. My mother died more than 30 years ago, so I can’t ask her where that recognition came from. All I know is that it was, apparently, possible to maintain a sense of facts and values — not only not to obey in advance but not to obey at all. If that was possible in the Soviet Union half a century ago, then it is certainly possible in the United States today.
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