I’m going to start with a little story pulled from my own life.

Like so many kids from my background, I joined the US military without finishing high school – on my 17th birthday, in fact.

I spent three years stationed with an artillery unit situated along what was then called “The Iron Curtain”, a border dividing the “Free West” from the Warsaw Pact countries of Eastern Europe.

The Warsaw Pact countries were essentially all of the nations which, at the end of WWII, had ended-up as satellites or outright puppet states of what was then known as the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR).

All of the Warsaw Pact countries behind the Iron Curtain (East Germany, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Albania, Bulgaria, Romania) had governments/regimes situated politically on a spectrum between authoritarianism and totalitarianism.

Put simply, the difference between authoritarianism and totalitarianism rests on how many of the following aspects of governance are out of the hands of the wider “demos” or people, and controlled by the few.

It doesn’t matter if these “few” are communist party officials, monarchs, dictators, corporations and oligarchs, or elected officials who flout the laws and norms of democracy.

If any government, administration, or regime includes more than one of the following indicators, they are authoritarian at the very least:

1)  an elaborate ideology (Project 2025/White Christian Nationalism/MAGA)
2)  a single mass party (some would say that a two-party system is little better)
3)  terror (ICE patrols and raids, anti-immigrant and LGBT hate speech)
4)  a technologically conditioned monopoly of communication (the Broligarchy of Musk, Bezos, Zuckerberg, et al)
5)  a monopoly of weapons
6)  a centrally controlled economy (hybrid system coming into being now via DOGE and privately-owned AI)

I had a German girlfriend when I got out of the army in the mid-80s, so I went to Fort Dix, New Jersey to out-process, and flew back to Germany to be with her.

One of the many jobs I held down at the time included working as a framemaker for a small town art gallery in Upper Franconia, a very provincial and conservative part of the state of Bavaria.

After a few months at this gallery, the owner (who will remain unnamed), approached me and asked if I would consider doing an extra “job” for her and her partner.

Over the course of a couple of hours, “T” tried to explain to me the history of the Siebenbürger people, a German-speaking minority who lived in the mountains of Transylvania, in central Romania.

The Siebenbürger are descendants of medieval Saxon mercenaries invited by King Andrew II of Hungary to take up land grants and fortify the eastern borders of what was the Kingdom of Hungary at the time.

The region in Romania known as Wallachia is where Vlad Tepes – Vlad the Impaler or “Dracula” – played the Hungarians off against the Ottoman Turks to build his own kingdom.  Most of the enemies he viciously impaled on stakes were in fact Siebenbürger soldiers.

Between 1965-1989, Romania was ruled by the brutal Nicolae Ceaușescu, who is widely considered to have run the most repressive regime among all the Warsaw Pact nations.

As part of his “make Romania great again” program, he embraced isolationism and shunned international trade, seeking to make Romania self-sufficient in every respect – food, energy, manufactured goods, everything.

By the time Ceaușescu came to power, Romania’s effective overlord, the Soviet Union, had already transported at least 70,000 ethnic Germans from Romania to labor camps in the Ukrainian Donbas region between 1944-1965.  Many of these and their children are the people referred-to as “Nazis” by Putin today.

Ceaușescu‘s cultural program involved the attempted elimination of all ethnic minority groups.

Initially, this ethnic-cleansing took the form of shutting-down all newspapers, publishing houses, schools, and theaters in which anything other than the Romanian language was spoken.

Roma (Gypsy) communities were dismantled wholesale.  It is not common knowledge in the west that the Roma (who are a separate ethnic group to “Romanians”) were held as slaves for centuries in the kingdoms which would eventually become Romania.  Speaking their own languages, the enslaved Roma of regions like Wallachia, Moldavia, and Bessarabia were only emancipated during the 1850s and 1860s.

During the 1970s and 1980s, many members of both the Roma and Siebenbürger communities began to be “disappeared” by Ceaușescu‘s much-feared secret police, the Securitate.

*****

It is against this background that “T”, who had actor and painter friends among the Siebenbürger behind the Iron Curtain, asked me if I would would drive her into Romania.

A Romanian theater troupe had been touring what was called “West Germany” at the time.  Three of its number were Siebenbürger who had defected and were claiming asylum in Germany.

There was one small problem, however.

None of them had been allowed to travel while holding their own identity documents.  Those were being held by a member of the Securitate who travelled with all such touring companies.

Without some form of ID, any claim for asylum was likely to be rejected.  Any defector handed-back over to the Romanian embassy and secret police was a dead man walking.

“T” was going to Romania to retrieve some form of ID for these people.  She also hoped to smuggle out a couple of paintings which could be auctioned in the west, with the cash being funnelled back in order to help the desperate families left behind.  They could use western cash on the Romanian black market to survive, and maybe even use it to bribe a border official to look the other way if they attempted to cross into the west to join their loved ones.

“Why on earth do you want ME to drive?” I asked.

“Because you hold a US passport”, she replied. “The border police and Securitate are unlikely to risk an international incident by detaining or harming an American.”

This all sounded extremely risky, and to my eternal shame, instead of a simple “yes” or “no”, I found myself asking “Am I going to get paid for this?”

I was still only 20 years old, but fully deserved her reaction.

“What the hell is the matter with you?  Have you never done anything solely for others?  Just for the damn sake of GOODNESS?”

Long story short, I agreed to go.

We went shopping for cartons of Kent cigarettes (prime currency in Romania at the time), as well as tiny luxuries like condoms, pantyhose, and music cassette tapes – contraception and the trappings of “decadent” Western culture were outlawed by Ceaușescu in his twisted dream of an ethnically and culturally pure “Motherland”.

Driving in stages, our first stop was in Vienna, where I was advised to eat well, as we wouldn’t be eating well again for a few days.

From there, it was on to our first stop behind the Iron Curtain – Budapest – where we took a brief rest before pushing on.

We drove across the Hungarian plains in white-out blizzard conditions on unplowed, unilluminated highways, giant Soviet-era sculptures of proletariat workers looming suddenly out of the snow-blasted darkness along the roadsides like silent titan gods.

 

The actual crossing of the border from Hungary into Romania was terrifying.

I had never had a gun pointed directly at me; never mind a dozen or so Kalashnikovs.  The casual laughter and staring eyes of mostly unshaven soldiers – all with only one hand on their weapon as the other held a cigarette – had placed a heavy stone in the pit of my stomach.

Hands gripping the steering wheel, I turned and said to “T” “Geez, I hope they don’t search the car and take all the stuff meant for your friends”.

She slapped me as hard as I’ve ever been slapped.  Leaning near, she whispered angrily through clenched teeth “Shut up you idiot! There are bugs everywhere. They can hear every word you say.”

When one of the soldiers made clear his intention to search the car, “T” handed me a carton of cigarettes and my passport, and told me to play the dumb American.

It wasn’t hard.

Getting out of the car, I turned warily toward the soldier who seemed to be in charge, holding out my passport while keeping the carton of cigarettes tucked under my arm. He put a hand on my shoulder and gestured toward the checkpoint booth.

I made a “You first, I’ll follow” sort of gesture, but he nudged me with his rifle barrel, indicating that I was to walk ahead.  That 20 yards with a rifle at my back was the longest 20 yards of my life.

Once inside his booth/office, he took the carton of cigarettes from under my arm and laid it on a small table, before taking a pack of state manufactured cigarettes – “Carpațis” – from his own pocket and offering me one.

My cigarette lit, he began pointing at the carton of Kents, and pointing back at the old BMW.  It became obvious that he wanted to know what else was on the menu, but wished the bribe to remain between the two of us, out of sight of his underlings.

I went back to the car and gathered a small selection of items, tucking them inside my coat and hurrying back to the checkpoint.

Nothing I offered seemed to satisfy him, and my increasing anxiety and fear must have been obvious. Finally, a smile, an exclamation, and a slap on my back.

A Michael Jackson cassette had done it.  The soldier smiled and pointed to a small photo pinned to the wall beside the table.  A gift for his wife or girlfriend.

He put the cassette into a drawer under the table, and walked me back to the car, waving the others aside.

I got back into the car and crossed into Romania, looking neither left nor right in case someone might try to get my attention and stop us again.

*****

We arrived in Sibiu under cover of darkness on the second night after a journey of around 900 miles, the shadowy black mass of the Transylvanian Mountains hulking in the mid-distance.

Even in a small city like Sibiu (about the size of Reno, Nevada), electricity was only available a couple of hours every day, and it was strictly rationed.

We were met at the end of a long, wide boulevard by a dark-complexioned man standing outside a heavy, ancient oak door set back along a row of large sooty terraced townhouses which betrayed hints of former glory from the century before.

He led us down some stairs and pushed open another door, where a family sat huddled around a simple table under a single bare lightbulb in the kitchen of a freezing basement apartment, all rising with cries and smiles and hugs and warm handshakes to greet us.

The generosity of these people upon our arrival has stayed with me to this day.

They had almost nothing.  Nothing in the way of decent clothing, and nothing in the way of wholesome, nourishing food.

Most of their winter sustenance was comprised of hard, stale bread and homemade sauerkraut fermented in barrels in the cellar.

Yet within the hour they had triumphantly produced a small cut of bacon wrapped in a piece of newspaper, which they cooked in a skillet before insisting that we, and we alone, should eat.

They later pulled a bottle of vodka from a hiding place behind a cupboard, and filled our glasses again and again.

I later learned they had hoarded these things for months in anticipation of our arrival.

The next morning, as “T” discussed business with our hosts, I went to the door, turning to ask if anyone would like me to fetch them something from the center of town.

I had hoped to get a brief glimpse of the city once known as “Hermannstadt” when it was still part of the old Austro-Hungarian Empire prior to WWI.

Everyone burst out laughing.

“And what will you bring us back from town?” they asked in the most curious German accent I had ever heard.

“I don’t know. A bar of chocolate, maybe?”

This reply led to near pandemonium, with hoots and guffaws and more gales of laughter.

Another bottle of vodka was taken from the secret place behind the cupboard, and placed in the center of the kitchen table.

Thomas pointed to the bottle.

“Bring us back a bar of chocolate, and the bottle is yours.”

After many hours wandering the streets, I returned.

Empty-handed.

I will save for another time the story of our exit from Romania, which made our entry seem like the red carpet treatment.

Things very nearly turned very, very bad indeed.

But I’m here now, aged 60, writing of a world which, until last month, seemed many lifetimes distant.

Nicolae Ceaușescu was not a totalitarian dictator on his first day in office.  He wasn’t even an authoritarian, really.

Power without checks and balances makes a monster of most humans, though…

After a quarter century of his hellish tyranny, Nicolae Ceaușescu and his wife Elena were executed on Romanian national television on Christmas Day in 1989, five years after my unlikely escapade there.

*****

I have travelled, and I have seen the workings of many people in many places.

I will say it here and now.  The Republic is momentarily lost.

Dictatorship has crept up softly on the American people, and struck.

I sit here as an ex-pat US citizen with a son born in Ireland, and realize I will probably never see the place of my birth again.  I have no family there anymore.

I have pondered long and hard about the rightness of criticizing events in the USA from a distance.

Yet the sociopath currently in office owns golf courses and much more here in Ireland.  The Irish economy is symbiotically entwined with American Big Tech companies.

The abandonment of NATO, the embrace of Putin, the betrayal of Ukraine, and interference in European elections makes USA politics very much European politics.

The world has suddenly grown much smaller and more dangerous.

Besides, I am beginning to think that having my writing on a European server might not be a bad situation in the days to come.  Freedom of speech and a free press have never seemed in as much danger in the USA.

Modern Americans have had too much, for too long, and most have never wondered how or why this could or should be.

They foolishly believed that consumerist affluence and cheap gasoline were somehow a measure of American “greatness”.

Others, of course, believe in “God’s blessings”.

Most Americans never thought to ask why gasoline in the USA has always cost a quarter or a tenth the amount it costs in other developed countries.

I seriously doubt that 1 in 100 Americans know that the US, in cahoots with the UK, overthrew the democratically elected leader of Iran during the 1950s in order to maintain control of petroleum reserves.

Hell, I seriously doubt that 1 in 100 Americans could point to Iran on a map.

Modern Americans treated comfort as a birthright, wilfully turning a blind eye to, or remaining entirely ignorant of, the suffering and cheap labor furnished by the “white” underclasses and the downtrodden Black and Hispanic communities.

In recent days, some of my readers have suggested that there is a case for optimism, because only 1 in 3 voters actually voted for a fascist.

Nonsense.  The current president enjoys a 45-55% approval rating, while his minions continue to tear down the very last structures upholding democracy – right this minute, while you read this essay.

The American populace is as thoroughly propagandized as any of those who ever lived in any authoritarian state.

*****

This week I shared a very short post on various media calling for boycotts, civil disobedience, and strikes as a possible way to head-off a full-blown techno-fascist autocracy.

The list was primarily interested in those who have either made public declarations of support for Trump or Project 2025, or given direct financial aid to Trump, the GOP, or Project 2025 through endorsements, individual donations, and various PACS.

I now find myself writing in anger.  If what I’m about to say causes some of my readers to bale-out, so be it.

Old people, unlike “influencers”, don’t need to give a shit.

The current president, with the help of his technocrats, has taken over the levers of government and dismantled almost all oversight bodies.

Big Tech is this very minute illegally harvesting every single shred of data concerning you and your loved ones.

AI and autocracy have never in history been combined.  This is going to make the old surveillance states of the Warsaw Pact look bumbling and amateurish.

Everyone from George Orwell to Frank Zappa warned this was coming, but neither could have imagined the power of AI.

Half of Congress is acquiescent.  Half of the courts are acquiescent.  FAR MORE THAN HALF OF US ARE ACQUIESCENT.

Brownshirt thugs roam the streets of our towns and cities, waiting for their master to release them from their leashes.

YET MANY READERS SPENT TIME THIS WEEK POINTING-OUT MINOR DISCREPANCIES IN A LIST INTENDED ONLY AS A GENERAL GUIDE TO KNOWING WHO IS AIDING AND ABETTING A FASCIST.

This is like bickering over whose turn it is to cook while a tornado approaches.

If one or two of the names gathered by various organizations over the past few years are out of date, or under new ownership, fine.

Let others know, and move on to the next.

Truth is, there is almost never such a thing as a “moral” corporation, anyway.  Where shareholders are getting rich, someone, somewhere, is invariably being hurt.

For a so-called majority Christian nation, it is astonishing how few Americans pause to consider the reported words of the man who gave rise to a world religious movement:

“And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.”

Moving swiftly on…

Complete strangers demanding footnotes, citations, annotations and sources is fine when a piece is based on my own research, or when I share something utterly new, contentious, or difficult to verify.

In such cases I am happy to supply sources and further reading lists, even to non-paying subscribers, when it is a matter of proper public interest.

But there are not enough hours in the day to be a full-time private, unpaid investigative reporter and verification service for those things which can be easily checked by readers themselves.

The internet is still open as of today.  Use it.

*****

If anyone has doubts about any of the non-original information shared here, or if they feel there is a question mark about a boycott list supplied in good faith, feel free to do some of your own digging.

And please, absolutely do come back with your new or better information, and share it.

I’m not a social activism guru.  I’m just a writer with something resembling a social conscience.

I also find it unfathomable hearing people say things like “Oh, I couldn’t boycott that place, my friend works there”.

IF WE ARE ONLY WILLING TO FIGHT FOR DEMOCRACY AND FREEDOM WHEN IT DOESN’T HURT, WE DO NOT DESERVE DEMOCRACY AND FREEDOM.

Go look up The Battle of Blair Mountain.  Go watch the film “Matewan“.

When our boycotts and strikes must hurt our own, we take them to our bosom and look after them.

It’s called solidarity.

It’s what good people do.

It’s why I shared the Cold War story of trying to help people who might have been killed without the help of others.

I’m no hero.  I just got put in a spot where I was given the chance to make a decision.

I’m glad I made the right one.

And if loads of us don’t make some hard choices, right here, right now, people are going to die.