In January 2024, nearly 200,000 protesters flooded the streets of Hamburg, their voices rising in unison with the chant, Nie wieder ist jetzt (“Never again is now”). Addressing the crowd, Hamburg’s mayor Peter Tschentscher vowed, “We will not allow our country and our democracy to be destroyed for a second time after 1945.” While centrist German politicians often warn against the dangers of the far right, this rally carried a new urgency. Just weeks earlier, it had been revealed that leaders of the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) party had held a secret meeting to discuss a horrifying plan: mass deportations not only of undocumented migrants but even of German citizens with migration backgrounds deemed insufficiently assimilated.

The clandestine gathering took place in a country hotel near Potsdam, eerily close to the site where, over 80 years ago, Nazi officers devised the “Final Solution”. But these far-right plotters knew they couldn’t propose their plan outright because it was too extreme; they had to first change the Meinungsklima, the “climate of opinion”, to make such policies palatable.

Among the architects of this strategy was Martin Sellner, a sharply dressed 35-year-old neofascist thought leader and “influencer” from Austria. During the meeting, Sellner was clear about the need to first build what he called “metapolitical power” to pave the way for their extreme agenda. He knew that before the public could be persuaded to accept the idea of “remigration” – a goal echoed loudly in the US by Trump-supporting advocates of mass deportations – the groundwork had to be laid by shifting societal norms and perceptions. The leak of these discussions to the press disrupted this strategy, exposing their intentions before they could sufficiently prepare the public to accept their plan.

“Metapolitics” is a term that traces back to the ideas of the Italian Marxist intellectual Antonio Gramsci. When he was incarcerated in 1926, Mussolini’s blackshirts were solidifying their grip on Italy. Mussolini’s rise to power had been as swift as it was brutal, and it left Gramsci grappling with a profound question: How had fascism, with its roots in violence and authoritarianism, managed to capture the hearts and minds of the Italian people, eclipsing the communist ideals that he and his comrades had championed?

In his prison writings, Gramsci theorised that lasting political power is built on cultural influence rather than solely exercised through force. To gain lasting power, he thought, a movement must first transform cultural narratives, shaping what society deems to be “common sense” long before political power is even contested.

In a bitter twist of history, these ideas – crafted as tools of resistance against fascism – have been repurposed by today’s far right to popularise policies that we remember from Hitler’s and Mussolini’s regimes. Despite the widespread protests against its “remigration” plan, the German far right has continued its relentless ascent. In September, the AfD became the largest party in the eastern German state of Thuringia – the first state where the Nazis entered government in the 1930s. As the far right has done, the progressive left too must dust off Gramsci’s notes and adapt his insights for our time.

The Nouvelle Droite

Germany’s “remigration” plotters weren’t the first within the Right to draw on Gramsci’s theories. In May 1968, when student protesters were on the streets of Paris demanding social change, another movement was quietly taking shape in France that would have a profound impact on today’s far-right strategies. Unlike the Left, which was protesting for immediate political change, Nouvelle Droite (“New Right”) intellectuals focused on the long game. Under the banner of GRECE (Groupement de Recherche et d’Études pour la Civilisation Européenne – Research and Study Group for European Civilisation), they sought to reshape culture in order to pave the way for future political power.

The Nouvelle Droite’s ideology promoted a hierarchised ethno-nationalist society, carefully packaged as “non-racist” and “non-fascist” so that its architects bore little resemblance to the fascists who lost the war a mere two decades before. Among other campaigns, they advocated for a world in which ethnic groups would remain in their “natural” homelands – Muslims in the Middle East, Black people in Africa – using the concept of “ethnopluralism” as a euphemism for racial segregation. It is a “non-racist” form of racism we are now accustomed to hearing.

Alain de Benoist, the leader of GRECE, believed that cultural power “acts upon the implicit values around which the consensus indispensable to the duration of political power crystallises”. In other words, he believed in the metapolitical goal of realising cultural hegemony. De Benoist advocated for the creation of intellectual platforms, journals, and think tanks to gradually insert far-right ideas into mainstream discourse, laying the groundwork for their eventual political ambitions.

While de Benoist laid the intellectual groundwork for the far right’s use of metapolitics, it was his fellow GRECE member Guillaume Faye who propelled these ideas into the 21st century. Faye argued that metapolitics should not be confined to elite intellectual circles but should be adopted by politicians, activists, and cultural movements alike. When Faye passed away in 2019, Sellner hailed him as a “provocative, radical, ice-cold, brilliant thinker”. Such praise is testament to how Faye’s vision succeeded in mobilising a new generation of far-right activists, who have carried his ideas from intellectual theory to the heart of mainstream discourse.

Gramsci theorised that lasting political power is built on cultural influence rather than solely exercised through force.

From Faye to Gamergate

Faye’s recognition that metapolitics needed to break out of the confines of intellectual circles coincided with the rise of social media. The internet democratised and decentralised media, allowing ideas to bypass the traditional gatekeepers. In this new digital space, anyone could spread ideas, making it easier to normalise new and often extremist ideologies. The digital age enabled the far right to exploit algorithms, find niche audiences, and amplify its messages on an unprecedented scale. It allowed for a metapolitics 2.0.

The digital outlet Breitbart News was an early example of this shift. A decade or so before becoming Trump’s chief strategist in 2016, Steve Bannon had built Breitbart on the principle that “politics is downstream from culture”. Never one to mince words or obscure his intent, he declared: “The Democrats don’t matter. The real opposition is the media. And the way to deal with them is to flood the zone with shit.” By saturating digital platforms with far-right narratives, Bannon aimed to drag extremist views from the fringes into the heart of mainstream discourse. His strategy worked – research later revealed that Breitbart News was the most shared source among Trump supporters during the 2016 election, cementing its role as a cultural force.

Bannon once proudly described Breitbart as “the platform for the alt-right”, a movement that, according to his own site, counted white nationalist Richard Spencer among its intellectual leaders. Spencer, infamous for chanting “Hail Trump” and leading a crowd in Nazi salutes days after Trump’s 2016 victory, has nonetheless been calculating in his strategy to mainstream far-right ideas. Like Sellner, Spencer admired the work of Guillaume Faye and explicitly embraced metapolitics, aiming to shift cultural narratives before engaging in overt political action. It was his platform AlternativeRight.com, launched in 2010, that popularised the term “alt-right,” blending traditional white nationalism with the internet’s digital culture wars.

Spencer’s alt-right movement found fertile ground on far-right forums like 4chan, quickly gaining momentum in the years before Trump’s win. His “Hail Trump” antics, cloaked in ironic exuberance, were part of a broader strategy to desensitise the public to extremist ideas. Central to the alt-right’s efforts was what Spencer and his followers dubbed “The Great Meme War” of 2016. By flooding social media with memes that mixed humour with hate, Spencer and his followers worked to make radical far-right views seem more palatable. As Spencer himself put it, “We memed alt-right into existence.”

Two years earlier, the Gamergate controversy – a backlash against diversity and progressive values in the gaming industry – had marked the beginning of the digital “culture wars”. What started as targeted harassment of women and minorities in gaming quickly evolved into a recruitment ground for far-right movements. Bannon saw the potential of these gamers and internet trolls, remarking that they “come in through Gamergate or whatever and then get turned onto politics and Trump”. Through figures like Milo Yiannopoulos, whom Bannon recruited at Breitbart and who rose to prominence during Gamergate, the far right tapped into these online subcultures to spread its ideology.

On the screens, in the streets

This tactic of infiltrating seemingly non-political spaces soon expanded beyond gaming. Andrew Tate, for example, used the men’s self-help movement to push misogynistic and far-right ideas. Richard Spencer embraced Bitcoin as the “currency of the alt-right”. In the Netherlands, far-right politician Thierry Baudet – whose party Forum for Democracy became the largest in the 2019 Dutch Senate elections – capitalised on Covid-19 conspiracies to attract anti-vaxxers and lockdown sceptics. His former partner, Eva Vlaardingerbroek, frequently featured on Fox News and GB News. She co-opted the European farmers’ protests by presenting herself as a “milk maiden”, adopting a farmer’s neckerchief as a symbol of identitarian resistance against “elites”. Brittany Sellner, wife of Martin Sellner, promoted conservative gender roles to her 200,000 YouTube subscribers through the “tradwife” movement.

Perhaps the most prominent contemporary example of a far-right-aligned figure seizing control of a major platform is Elon Musk’s acquisition of Twitter in 2022. By reinstating banned accounts, amplifying inflammatory content, and dismantling moderation efforts, Musk has transformed Twitter, rebranded as X in 2023, into a battleground for far-right metapolitical strategy – shifting cultural discourse before political action.

While much of the far right’s success has come from harnessing digital platforms, traditional media remains a powerful tool in shaping public opinion. French billionaire and media mogul Vincent Bolloré’s strategic acquisition of outlets such as the French news channel CNews – modelled after Fox News – transformed these platforms into vehicles for far-right narratives, amplifying nationalist and xenophobic sentiments. By buying up traditional media, figures like Bolloré ensure that white nationalist messaging can permeate even those spaces the digital far-right doesn’t reach.

Fascism today spreads through our phones and screens, in memes, tweets, and carefully crafted narratives.

This synthesis of digital dominance and traditional media acquisition has allowed the far right to shift the political and cultural conversation, often without needing to directly engage in the political sphere. Bannon, Bolloré, Musk, and others show how far-right metapolitical tactics have evolved, giving such ideas the reach and legitimacy that at the start of the century seemed unimaginable. Faye would have been proud. But this cultural shift has not remained confined to far-right platforms and niche forums; it has led to increased media uptake of far-right talking points, an ever-warmer embrace by the centre-right, electoral success, and even violence.

Following the racist and Islamophobic mob attacks across the United Kingdom during the summer, multiple GB News anchors tried to shield themselves from potential legal prosecution by posting disclaimers on their X accounts stating that none of the content was “known to be false, nor intended to stir racial or any hatred of, nor cause psychological or physical harm to, any person or group of people”. This followed an incident where these anchors, along with figures like Andrew Tate and Elon Musk, falsely blamed a Muslim immigrant for a mass stabbing, which directly fueled the mob violence that led to an asylum centre in Rotherham being set on fire and resulted in nearly 1000 arrests.

From the UK riots and the Christchurch shooter¹ who donated to Martin Sellner to influencers like Tate and anonymous troll accounts who weaponise social media, the consequences of far-right metapolitics are clear: it shifts cultural norms to the extent that a climate of division and hate emerges, eventually leading to violence. Fascism today doesn’t need to march through the streets in black boots; it spreads through our phones and screens, in memes, tweets, and carefully crafted narratives. We’ve seen the depths of destruction when fascism is left unchecked – mass atrocities, gas chambers. Unless we challenge this at both the political and metapolitical levels, the violence and erosion of democratic values will only deepen.

In Hungary and Italy, we can already see far-right governments use state power to consolidate cultural hegemony. Viktor Orbán’s regime funds media outlets and educational institutions to promote nationalist, anti-liberal ideology. His cultural influence stretches beyond Hungary’s borders as he uses his government to reshape Europe’s ideological landscape. Similarly, Giorgia Meloni’s government is taking control over public broadcasting in order to sideline progressive voices in favour of nationalist and conservative narratives. When the far-right gains political power, its metapolitical ambitions are not limited to influencing discourse – they become tools of statecraft.

“Bodies without organs”

Our current political period is marked by the success of the far right, both as an electoral force and through the increasing salience of its talking points in the broader political landscape. Yet this is not the only cultural and pre-political shift that has unfolded since the turn of the century. The climate movement, #MeToo, and #BlackLivesMatter (BLM) have demonstrated the progressive left’s ability to spark cultural transformations that reshape public discourse and societal norms. These movements, grounded in progressive ideals, have prompted changes in discourse, policy, and political representation. The “Green Wave” of 2019, which brought environmental issues to the fore alongside the diversification of political representation, is an example of how cultural momentum can translate into political gains – albeit with mixed results.

Belgian political scientist Anton Jäger uses the concept of “bodies without organs” to describe such protest movements. They are clenched and muscular but lack a real internal metabolism. This metaphor captures the fragmented nature of modern progressive movements. While they have driven critical conversations, they have struggled to maintain long-term momentum and mass organisation. As a result, their gains can feel fleeting, more like temporary disruptions than enduring structural transformations.

The cultural shifts these movements have achieved are undeniable. They have altered public debate, elevated marginalised voices, increased representation in leadership positions, and boosted green politics. However, without a deeper and more sustained metapolitical strategy, these achievements risk being overshadowed by the far right’s ability to build durable cultural hegemony. The challenge for the progressive left is not just to spark moments of change but to embed those changes in the cultural and political fabric for the long term.

One underlying factor contributing to this fragility is the legacy of the depoliticisation of the “post-political” era of the 1990s and 2000s. During that time, media and civil society (and to a large extent neoliberal politics, which held fast to a “there is no alternative” mantra) positioned themselves as neutral, technocratic spaces, removed from ideological conflicts and distanced from progressive politics. This depoliticisation meant that these new progressive movements lacked the deeply rooted cultural institutions necessary for sustained influence. In contrast, the far right was actively working to repoliticise such spaces, building metapolitical power to support its long-term goals.

The progressive left must confront the reality that culture is not a neutral or non-political space – it’s a battleground.

Fighting back

The progressive left must confront the reality that culture, in all its forms, is not a neutral or non-political space – it’s a battleground. The far right understands this deeply, shaping public discourse and media narratives to shift societal norms in its favour, whether through media, entertainment, or Social movements. Progressives cannot afford to remain detached from these dynamics, treating civil society, media, and culture as independent from politics.

Currently, progressives often find themselves on the defensive, reacting to far-right media campaigns, political manoeuvring, or cultural shifts instead of driving the narrative. It is time to take the metapolitical game seriously. There is no existing playbook that guarantees success, but unless progressives get a firm grip on these cultural and pre-political spaces, their political efforts will continue to be undermined. Several steps can be taken to reclaim and reshape the cultural landscape.

First, understanding that an important path towards media influence is ownership. Building independent progressive media platforms that can rival the reach and impact of right-wing outlets is as essential now as it was at the start of the labour movement. These platforms should not be seen as isolated projects but as integral parts of a larger, cohesive metapolitical strategy; they should not refrain from serving an agenda in order to honour high-minded ideals of “neutrality” that have lost sight of the stakes. If owning media is out of the question, building ties with media makers is a close second in terms of priority.

Second, realising that the post-political period is over. The strategic rationale that, in the 1990s and 2000s, led to civil society becoming a non-political space able to lobby any government no longer holds; rather, it is being crushed under the weight of right-wing political and media dominance. Rather than maintain this awkward separation, progressive parties and civil society should partner to set the agenda and build cultural power. The fight for the environment, social justice, and human rights can no longer be confined to the policy space – it needs to be embedded in the cultural and media landscape.

There is more to representation than the diversity of people at the top. In order to gain and mobilise the support of different groups in society, progressive forces must engage with the spaces in which they convene. Similar to the 1930s, many unions are starting to actively engage with members in places where the far right is gaining support, in order to counteract its infiltration. Society is made up not only of classes, but of (sub)cultures and identity groups. Active participation in these different cultural spheres – feminist, queer, migrant, communities of colour, and more – is vital.

The fourth front of this battle is the world of content creators and influencers. Progressive movements must actively cultivate a new generation of influencers and creators across platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube. These digital spaces are where young audiences form opinions and political awareness. Movements like #MeToo and BLM have shown how much potential exists for progressive influencing. Now is the time to invest in the relationships and structures necessary to continuously capitalise on this immense reservoir of progressive power.

Simultaneously, these movements must pressure digital platforms to deplatform far-right figures and combat disinformation. Deplatforming strategies work – evidence shows that removing key far-right voices significantly reduces their reach and influence. But this is not a perfect solution, as the shift in ownership at Twitter clearly shows. Regulation of platforms is ultimately needed, yet achieving meaningful reforms depends on gaining political power first. The foundation for this strategy is thus fragile, given how little oversight is currently in place and the lack of appetite to tackle these platforms. Although there is still little success for non-commercial alternatives to privately owned and hyper-capitalist platforms, building progressive platforms should remain the ultimate goal.

The lessons from Gramsci’s writings and the far right’s appropriation of his ideas serve as a stark warning: neglecting the cultural arena cedes ground to those who would undermine democratic values and human rights. To counter this, progressives must actively participate in shaping the Meinungsklima that influences our societies – and that is a game to be played both before and after the seats in parliament are divided.

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1. In 2019, white supremacist Brenton Tarrant attacked two mosques in the New Zealand city of Christchurch, killing 51 Muslim worshippers. ↩︎