How ordinary people can resist fascism

Somewhere along my journalism school journey, I started scanning every wall and telephone pole for posters. I’m never on the hunt for anything in particular, but I’ve learned that a story can wedge itself into the most ridiculous corners. Upon deeper inspection, local ads, ominous QR codes, and artfully composed Canva flyers can yield a great story.

Last week, I was walking by the Grafton Street Park bulletin board when a poster grabbed my attention: an AI‑rendered crowd packed into Grand Parade, every flag and fist held up in the same frozen pose. The headline promised a nationwide protest against Mark Carney and the Liberal Party, right here in Halifax. 

The group behind it calls itself Stand United Canada, a name that, at least on their website, claims to champion “free speech, democratic accountability and national sovereignty.”

The group’s figurehead, Freek Schep, is a Dutch-born far-right nationalist known for anti-immigration demonstrations. In other words, he’s a glorified conservative ultra-nationalist mouthpiece who, based on his social media, spends his days parading around Halifax holding signs saying “Deport every illegal,” trying to interview people under the guise of debate. 

What exactly does “standing united” mean here?

At a glance, the movement appears to be ordinary citizens acting out of frustration with the government — OK, fair enough. But it’s not hard to see some patterns: a movement quickly gaining legs by feeding off anger, distrust and a sense of being left behind. Haven’t we read this book before? Spoiler: the ending is grim. 

It’s hardly surprising that fascist rhetoric is popping up in this climate. If you’re paying any attention, you know the world is kind of on fire. Countries are splitting into hostile camps, and Canada isn’t immune. The Freedom Convoy protests, growing Alberta separatist movement and rising anti-immigration rhetoric are unavoidable signs. 

At a time like this, asking how ordinary people are supposed to “resist” fascism can feel beside the point.

But if we’re going to use the F word, we should agree on what it means.

Until recently, I avoided trying to pin down “fascism” too neatly: its definition shifts depending on where and when you look. Italy had one version, Germany another, Spain and Japan something else entirely. At its heart, fascism is about elevating the nation above everything else: it diagnoses anyone who disagrees as a threat to order, rallies the masses around extreme ultra-nationalist fervour and sometimes turns to violence to hold onto power.

With this in mind, I embarked on a valiant quest to remedy fascism. I spoke with Steve Commichau, an instructor in Dalhousie University’s German department, who teaches a course titled “Confronting Fascism.” 

The first thing he told me was that fascism isn’t a fixed ideology. It’s malleable: it must change shape to survive. 

“It’s not an ideology that has specific end goals,” he said. “It’s a Darwinian struggle of survival in its own understanding.” 

He argues that fascism isn’t rooted in conviction at all, but in something considerably more primal. 

“It is aiming to gain power, aiming to use power in whatever way it’s able to ensure its own survival.”

He also emphasized that fascism’s appeal isn’t rational: “A fascist can lie all day, and it’s fine because what he says feels good, it satisfies emotional needs that people feel are not addressed otherwise.” That’s why fact‑checking alone never seems to make a dent. 

“We still imagine politics as a debate between rational actors,” he said. “By the time we’re fact‑checking the latest fake claim, he [Trump] has already said ten other things.”

What are the rest of us meant to do with that? Stage a coup d’état? Join the resistance? Commichau argues for something more radical: hope. 

“We need to untrain the idea that hope or solidarity is cringe,” he says. What we can hold onto, at least for now, are real examples happening every day of people choosing connection instead of the slow slide into ruin. 

“Building networks of solidarity, mutual aid and community are ways of countering this feeling of isolation and powerlessness.”

For students, this can start on campus: speaking up in class discussions, being present in their communities and showing up for others — ultimately, holding on to the belief that people are worth trusting. If the only future we can picture is bleak, then bleakness becomes a self‑fulfilling prophecy.

But optimism isn’t maintained in a vacuum; it runs headfirst into the people in your life and appears in the uncomfortable conversations you can’t seem to dodge.

There’s a particular kind of paralysis that seeps in when you’re stuck at the dinner table, and someone across from you is winding up for a tirade about corrupt liberals or immigrants ruining the country. 

I’ve tried moral appeals and earnest pleas. The only thing that gets me through is keeping it simple and refusing the urge to step onto a pedestal of moral righteousness, which never works anyway. 

But participating in these conversations is more productive than might be apparent. The truest form of resistance depends on consistent awareness, critical thinking and collective action. The refusal to look away, and the refusal to let suffering be someone else’s problem. 

Resisting fascism means learning, debating, organizing, volunteering, teaching, striking, marching, listening and holding power accountable. 

Democracy only exists when people actively sustain it.