The Clean-Cut Fascists
How America’s new right learned to hide hate behind podcasts and patriot prayers.
They look ordinary enough. Ironed shirts, clean haircuts, LinkedIn smiles. The kind of young men you’d trust with a corporate card or your sister’s phone number. They speak the fluent language of patriotism, duty, and faith. But this isn’t 4chan; this is the private Telegram group of your local Young Republicans — future lawmakers, Hill interns, self-styled patriots who pray before brunch and preach family values before casually joking their way toward cultural mass murder. They are the new face of American extremism, and they are bored.
The performance of normality ends here. A content warning is necessary; the following is a raw transcript of their conversations, featuring racial-genocide rhetoric, racial slurs, and descriptions of sexual violence.
“Everyone that votes no is going to the gas chamber.”
“I love Hitler.”
“Bro is at a chicken restaurant ordering his food. Would he like some watermelon and Kool-Aid with that?”
”Kick the bitch.”
”Rape is epic.”
They refer to Black people as “monkeys” and “the watermelon people.” Slurs — the N-word, “retard,” “faggot” — appear more than 250 times.
Nothing fringe about it. These aren’t basement trolls. They are men who pay their bills on time, hold gold-level gym memberships, and never miss a networking breakfast. They Venmo their share after Bible study. Between lunch breaks and prayer groups, they trade genocide jokes. Hate isn’t the topic — it’s the background hum of their day.
They call it irony. It’s not. It’s boredom weaponised by entitlement.
And when this boredom seeks validation, it doesn’t find mentors — it finds microphones. They don’t turn to teachers or friends; they turn to algorithms that whisper back their fears in a deeper voice.
They find Jordan Peterson, the disgraced professor and wannabe self-help guru who turns male loneliness into moral panic. He tells young men to clean their rooms while leaving their minds in ruins, turning private insecurity into a public crusade against feminism — and don’t get him started on pronouns.
Andrew Tate, shirtless, chinless, and spine-optional, packages domination as discipline and calls it “natural order.” The source? His deluded brain, but it sticks — because nothing sells faster than confidence without content.
Joe Rogan’s “just a guy” persona is a strategic shield. He platforms bigotry, amplifies delusion, and when challenged, hides behind a shrug. But there is nothing neutral about his stage. He doesn’t just host the madness; he legitimises it, packaging poison as “forbidden knowledge” for millions who mistake his cynical passivity for reason.
Nick Fuentes, a Spanish-sounding neo-Nazi who dined with Trump, proudly calls himself a white nationalist and rebrands fascism as “Christian nationalism” with a smirk.
And The Daily Wire, the glossy propaganda of modern scripture, delivers sermons for a faith that doesn’t believe in forgiveness — if it were real.
Together, these figures form a digital pantheon of patriarchs for the disoriented. They promise a return to purpose once feminism, empathy, and accountability have been declared obsolete — gurus who offer paradise the moment equality dies.
This is their education: a classroom with no curriculum, just grievance. A place where manhood isn’t something you grow into; it’s something you perform against the world. Where the only moral rule is: never feel small, never admit doubt, never apologise.
It’s a cultural sinkhole. Because young men are the pressure point of every society — when they lose direction, everything shakes. They are told they’re victims, so they learn to behave like conquerors. They’re encouraged to see compassion as castration, equality as humiliation.
Trump didn’t invent them. He’s just what happens when loneliness metastasises into ideology. He gave them the language, turned insecurity into a creed. He told the lost they were chosen. Trumpism is emotional welfare; it feeds the starved with outrage. Project 2025 is simply the policy manual for this disease, a vision where biology is destiny and sociology is control.
Thiel funds the pipeline, Musk memes it into virality, Tate performs it in silk robes. Fuentes livestreams the sermon to prove hate can still trend. The message echoes through mainstream culture — from music videos to gaming streams: domination equals relevance. And the boys believe it. They become fluent in contempt. By the time politics enters the room, the work is already done.
JD Vance, the Vice President of moral convenience. When the chat leak hit, his reaction wasn’t outrage — it was deflection dressed as perspective. He brushed it off as “edgy, offensive jokes” made by “kids” and told critics to “grow up.” He compared the messages to something “far worse” by Democrats, placing the blame squarely on outrage culture rather than on the content itself. The irony, of course, is that while these “kids” are grown men in suits, Vance believes that actual eleven-year-old girls can be mothers. It was the perfect emblem of this new conservatism: purity for women, impunity for men; virtue on the podium, vice in the group chat.
But here’s the thing, the algorithm can’t hide the truth that leaks through their strained smiles and twitchy humour: they are miserable. They were never hugged enough and never heard, never loved without condition. Put one of these boys in a room full of genuine affection, and he would disintegrate. Because love demands vulnerability, and this new fascism trains you to fear it above all else.
They don’t crave power because they are strong. They crave it because they are emotionally starved.
And the ultimate tragedy, the silent punchline to their cruel joke, is that for a moment, in that feverish, shared hatred, they almost feel connected. It burns bright and fast, and in that false warmth, for a moment, hate almost feels like love.