Nationalism and Fear: Scapegoating in the Trump Era
How fear-based nationalism reshapes American politics, erodes democratic norms, and turns vulnerable communities into targets.
Nationalism is back at the heart of American politics, but it’s not the kind that brings people together. Instead, it’s being used to divide and control. And nobody has wielded it better than Donald Trump. His playbook is simple: turn fear into political fuel. He points to immigrants, other countries, and even fellow Americans he calls “traitors,” casting them as the bad guys in a story where America is always losing. The result is a politics driven by suspicion and resentment, where the goal isn’t to solve problems together, but to always have someone to blame.
Make no mistake: for Trump, fear isn’t just a side effect. It’s the entire strategy. Fear of outsiders, of the economy collapsing, of our culture being erased, of enemies hiding among us. At the center of it all is a brand of nationalism that paints a picture of an America that’s fragile and under attack, needing to be saved from threats both outside our borders and from within.
Immigration has always been ground zero for this fight. From the day he launched his 2016 campaign, Trump didn’t talk about immigrants as people looking for a better life. He painted them as an invading force “bringing crime,” “bringing drugs,” and “poisoning the blood” of the nation. That last phrase should send a chill down anyone’s spine. It’s not just ugly; it’s a direct echo of the language used by Nazi propagandists to dehumanize Jews and other minorities. The parallel is horrifying, and it’s meant to be. It trains people to see immigrants not as neighbors or coworkers, but as a contamination that needs to be purged for the nation to be “healthy” again.
Once you see people that way, policies like family separations, mass ICE raids, and building a wall stop being just political debates. They become rituals of protection, public declarations of who belongs and who doesn’t.
And it’s not just immigration. He points to trade deficits as proof we’re being ripped off. He blames job losses on foreign countries, not automation or corporate greed. He uses crime in cities to stir up racial and cultural divisions. He frames any kind of cultural shift as an attack on “traditional” American values and portrays our oldest alliances as sucker deals that make us weak. Every one of these problems gets twisted into a national security threat, until you can’t tell the difference between a domestic disagreement and an attack from a foreign enemy. In that kind of environment, extreme measures start to feel not only reasonable, but necessary.
Under Trump, deportation became more than just policy; it was political theater. Every mass removal, especially of people who’ve lived here for years, sends a clear message about who truly belongs. It’s an America for “real” Americans—a definition that has less to do with a passport and more to do with loyalty, identity, and ideology.
This isn’t a new playbook. Authoritarian movements throughout history, from Stalin’s Russia to Nazi Germany, have used the same language of “purity” and fear of outsiders to tighten their grip on power. The goal is always the same: to define “us” so narrowly that almost anyone can become one of “them.” What makes these tactics work isn’t just government power, but getting the public to believe it’s necessary. Trump has convinced millions that cruelty is a form of safety, that disagreement is betrayal, and that their fear justifies anything. Once fear is the driving force of your politics, the line of what’s considered acceptable moves, and moves fast.
Democracies don’t usually collapse overnight. They wear away, piece by piece, often in the name of patriotism or safety. In a political climate fueled by fear, the law stops being about justice and starts being about payback. Protesting, a cornerstone of American freedom, gets relabeled as “subversive” or even “terrorism.” Soon, neighbors look at each other with suspicion, taught to see different opinions not as disagreements, but as threats.
A powerful media machine keeps this feedback loop going. Right-wing outlets frame any dissent as betrayal and push conspiracy theories that make extreme actions seem necessary. Republican leaders, whether they believe it or not, repeat these talking points, giving them a stamp of legitimacy. Social media then acts like gasoline on the fire, spreading outrage and lies faster than the truth can ever hope to keep up.
What you’re left with is a political system where fear isn’t just a tactic; it’s the foundation. The very institutions meant to protect democracy—the courts, the press, Congress—are attacked, undermined, or ignored. The rule of law bends to serve the politics of revenge. And once this architecture of fear is built, it starts to run on its own. Every new crisis just becomes another excuse for more control, more division, and more silence.