Escape from Freedom: Germany Under Hitler and MAGA Under Trump

When societies face prolonged uncertainty, cultural upheaval, and a loss of shared meaning, familiar psychological patterns tend to resurface. We have, in important respects, seen this story before. The question is not one of blame, but of understanding: what can we learn about ourselves—and about the conditions that shape collective behavior—when freedom itself begins to feel like a burden?

In Escape from Freedom, Fromm argued that modern freedom, while celebrated as a moral and political achievement, can also become psychologically overwhelming. When individuals are confronted with rapid change, economic insecurity, social fragmentation, and the erosion of familiar identities, freedom can produce anxiety rather than empowerment. In such moments, people often seek relief not through deeper self-determination, but through submission to authority, conformity, and simplified worldviews that promise order and meaning. Fromm’s insight was not ideological but psychological: under certain conditions, the desire to escape freedom is a deeply human response to uncertainty.

Fromm illustrated this dynamic through the rise of Nazism in Germany—not to moralize, but to understand. Post–World War I Germany was marked by humiliation, economic collapse, institutional breakdown, and cultural dislocation. The appeal of Hitler was less about coherent policy than about emotional reassurance. He offered clarity in chaos, belonging in isolation, and certainty in the face of fear. Individuals were invited to dissolve their personal anxieties into a collective identity, trading autonomy for psychological safety. As Fromm observed, this was not mass irrationality—it was an attempt to cope with unbearable freedom.

It is in this psychological sense—not as a historical equivalence—that Fromm’s work helps illuminate contemporary movements such as MAGA. Many who are drawn to it are responding to real experiences of loss: economic displacement, cultural marginalization, rapid social change, and a perceived erosion of status and meaning. The movement offers coherence, identity, and a strong figure who names enemies (immigrants, people of color, women, etc.) and promises restoration. The danger, as Fromm warned, is not grievance itself, but the temptation to surrender democratic responsibility in exchange for emotional relief. His warning was never about one nation or one era; it was about a recurring human vulnerability.

The challenge before us, then, is a leadership challenge as much as a political one. Civic repair does not begin with shaming or ideological conquest, but with the difficult work of rebuilding meaning, trust, and psychological safety in a fragmented society. Leaders—formal and informal—must resist the temptation to exploit fear and instead cultivate the capacities that freedom requires: critical thinking, moral courage, empathy, and a tolerance for ambiguity. If freedom is to endure, it must be made livable. That work cannot be outsourced to institutions or strongmen; it rests in the everyday choices of leaders who are willing to hold complexity, tell difficult truths, and help people remain psychologically grounded in an age that constantly pulls them toward certainty at any cost.