At the far-right conference on democracy that I attended recently, “fear” was front and centre. Indeed, one of the first speakers to take the platform spoke at length about the dangers of being afraid. Fear, they argued, is debilitating. It paralyses us, makes us retreat and lash out. And it distorts our judgement and makes us see enemies where none exist.
On this point, they were absolutely right.
Pervasive fear is corrosive. It does warp our sense of reality. And it does undermine democracy as attempts are made to control and diminish those who are perceived to be a threat.
Which is why the presentations that followed were so revealing – and contradictory.
Almost immediately after this eloquent warning about fear, the conference pivoted to a long and familiar list of people we should apparently be afraid of. Migrants. Muslims. LGBTQ+ communities. Women who want control over their own bodies. NGOs. Civil society organisations (see my previous blog for the full list).
Fear, it turned out, was only considered dangerous when it belonged to others. When the speakers themselves expressed fear – aimed squarely at already marginalised groups – it was reframed as common sense, realism or even courage
When it comes to understanding how politicians use fear, Ruth Wodak’s work is the place to turn to. In her book, The Politics of Fear, Wodak shows how right-wing populist movements systematically produce, curate and amplify this powerful emotion as a political tool.
The process is consistent across countries and movements, and is one that those of you who study the far-right will be aware of:
Complex social and economic problems are simplified
Blame is displaced onto visible “outsiders”
An imagined moral community (“the people”) is constructed
Those outside it are framed as threats to safety, identity or survival
Crucially, this is almost never framed as being afraid. It is framed as common sense. As “saying what everyone else is thinking” or as courage for standing up against people who apparently want to do us harm.
This is exactly how fear was framed at the conference. For example, when the opportunity for questions came, I asked this:
“This session opened with a very well-argued pitch as to why fear is the mind killer, which I agree with… and yet all the way through the presentations, the speakers have shown they are afraid of immigrants, Muslims, LGBT communities and women who would like the right to control what happens to their own bodies. So I wonder, what would it mean to build a Europe where everyone feels secure enough that no group needs to fear another?”
The response from the panel was defensive. There was no fear in their speeches, they said. Quite the opposite. The fact that they were “speaking up” against these groups showed just how courageous they were.
Those with the most power presented themselves as brave truth-tellers. Those with the least power were framed as dangerous forces that needed to be feared and contained.
Figuring out how to respond to this is important for charities and trade unions – not just because fear results in hostility towards the people we exist to support, but because it also demobilises resistance.
When people are afraid, they retreat into what feels safe and familiar. They prioritise protecting themselves and their families and keep their heads down, avoiding anything that might attract attention, controversy or risk.
People who are fearful are less likely to protest, less likely to organise and less likely to defend others when it might cost them something.
So, what does all this mean for those of us working in civil society communications?
First, we need to be alert to how fear operates – within hostile narratives and within our own organisations. Fear can push us towards defensive postures, overly cautious language or reactive messaging that inadvertently reinforces the frame set by others.
Second, we need to address people's fears without dismissing them. Wodak is clear that fear works because it taps into real anxieties – about insecurity, identity, loss of control. Simply telling people they are wrong to feel afraid rarely works.
Third, we need to take back words that have been misused. Democracy, freedom and courage don’t belong to the loudest, most hostile voices in the room. We can reclaim them by showing what they look like in practice – in people’s daily lives, in shared responsibility, and in standing up for others even when it carries a cost.
The far-right doesn’t need everyone to agree with their authoritarian ideals. It only needs enough people to decide that speaking up isn’t worth the risk. Our job – in charities and trade unions – is to make acting together feel possible, necessary and worth it.
