Schmittian Moments 11 (Part 2)
Authoritarianism does not simply dominate from above through force or legal control; it constructs, attracts, and sustains itself by shaping the desires, fears, and identifications of subjects. Across the contemporary political landscape, we see not a single model of authoritarianism, but a range of distinct forms that reflect the histories, cultures, and institutional logics of different states. The authoritarianism of Narendra Modi in India is not the same as that of Donald Trump in the United States, nor is it akin to Vladimir Putin’s control in Russia or Xi Jinping’s rule in China. Each represents a different structure of power, each speaks to different fantasies of order, justice, and belonging, and each appeals to different psychological and sociological character types.
To understand authoritarianism today, we must therefore attend not only to institutions and ideologies but to the kinds of people who find themselves drawn to, interpellated by, or dependent upon these forms of rule. Modi’s model is perhaps the most internally hybrid. It blends an overtly moral and nationalist civilizational rhetoric with sophisticated tactical use of the law and administrative process. His brand of authoritarianism relies less on personal charisma and more on evoking a long historical identity, promising the restoration of Hindu dignity through the cleansing of corruption, Islamic legacy, and liberal secularism. It appeals to a wide range of citizens by grounding itself in a sense of cultural coherence, giving many the feeling that they are finally governed by one of their own. This coherence is paired with a ruthless instrumentalism that quietly reshapes institutions, courts, and media while maintaining a democratic façade. Modi’s state does not demand the constant performative aggression of its leader because the leader himself has become a signifier of national integrity, which many internalize with a sense of devotional loyalty.
Trump’s authoritarianism is, by contrast, anarchic and performative. It thrives on crisis, thrives on contradiction, and derives its power from disidentification with the norms of liberal governance. Trump’s appeal is rooted in a kind of obscene sovereignty, the fantasy that someone can finally say what no one else dares to say, do what no one else is allowed to do, and break all the rules in the name of the people. His followers are drawn to a spectacle of resentment and vengeance, a politics of symbolic revenge against elites, minorities, intellectuals, and bureaucrats. Unlike Modi, Trump does not promise moral coherence but the exhilarating collapse of the moral order itself, with himself as its divine exception. His power lies in destabilization, not order, and for that reason, his authoritarianism is inherently chaotic, even as it often masks itself in the language of law and order. Putin offers yet another form. His model is formally legalistic and institutionally disciplined, even if these institutions are hollowed out or performative.
Putinism is not about moral transformation or populist rage but about security, stability, and national pride underpinned by a cold rationality of control. His image is one of competence, strength, and endurance. His authoritarianism appeals to those who fear social chaos and yearn for a clear chain of command, often shaped by post-Soviet disillusionment. His state structures provide a strong sense of hierarchy, safety, and respectability, and even as elections and civic freedoms are hollow, they are maintained in form, preserving a kind of legalistic illusion. It is a system that permits power to operate quietly, reinforced by loyalty networks, security services, and legal controls rather than constant populist performance.
Xi’s regime is at once the most ideologically moralistic and the most bureaucratically disciplined. His is an authoritarianism of moral engineering, built on Confucian, Marxist, and technocratic values, tightly linked to Party discipline and long-term planning. Xi does not court popularity as such but insists on submission to a higher rational-moral order embodied in the Party. His appeal is not to resentment or spectacle but to those who find meaning and stability in hierarchical order, moral cultivation, and national rejuvenation. His state is highly systematized and invasive, increasingly relying on data, surveillance, and ideological training, not only to suppress dissent but to construct a population that thinks in line with Party logic. This form of rule attracts technocratic minds, cultural conformists, and those who value predictability over freedom, structure over spontaneity.
What makes these regimes durable is not merely their institutional strategies, but the fact that they map onto different types of authoritarian subjectivities. Some people crave moral certainty, some want vengeance, some need the safety of legality, and others aspire to manage and excel within hierarchical systems. If we map five character types—drawn loosely from psychoanalytic, sociological, and political theory, we can begin to see which regimes correspond to which dispositions.
The submissive traditionalist is someone who needs cultural rootedness, fears moral decay, and desires to be folded into something larger than themselves. This subject finds comfort in Modi’s civilizational appeal and Xi’s Confucian-style moralism. Trump, by contrast, offers too much chaos and vulgarity, while Putin may be too cold and impersonal.
The resentful individualist, often driven by feelings of betrayal and marginalization, is most aligned with Trump’s grievance politics. This figure may admire Putin’s strength but resents Xi’s ideological control and Modi’s collectivist symbolism.
The loyal institutionalist, who values order and hates rule-breaking, is alienated by Trump but finds Modi, Putin, and Xi attractive for different reasons, they offer continuity, discipline, and coherent leadership.
The cynical realist, who views politics as a game of survival and manipulation, may feel equally at home under any of these regimes so long as they can be navigated effectively. They appreciate Modi’s tactical intelligence, Trump’s gut instinct, Putin’s legal repression, and Xi’s system-building.
Lastly, the aspiring technocrat desires competence, hierarchy, and efficiency. They are repelled by Trump’s unpredictability and prefer the administrative rigor of Xi, the strategic control of Putin, or Modi’s governance-tech populism.
Gender plays a complicated role across these regimes. All are patriarchal in their own ways, though the forms vary. Modi appeals to women as mothers of the nation while reinforcing Hindu gender hierarchies. Trump’s misogyny is open and defiant, part of his anti-PC appeal to disaffected men, but some women admire his unapologetic power. Putin performs hypermasculinity but presents himself as protector of the nation’s women. Xi promotes an image of family harmony under Party supervision while restricting feminist activism. In each case, authoritarianism reasserts traditional gender roles even as it selectively permits women’s participation, usually when instrumental to national or ideological goals.
We might reframe this approach through the lens of political alliance and a crude left/right divide. On the left, those who identify as postcolonial justice seekers may feel a conflicted pull toward Modi or Xi. Modi, with his anti-Western rhetoric and invocation of ancient Indian civilization, might appear at first to be a counter-hegemonic figure, someone resisting the legacy of colonial subjugation. Yet this admiration is short-circuited by his majoritarianism, caste silence, and anti-Muslim rhetoric, which sit uneasily with leftist ideals of pluralism and equality. Xi’s China, on the other hand, presents a more disciplined, state-centered version of postcolonial assertion. It garners cautious interest from those who see in it an alternative to Western hegemony, a model that has lifted hundreds of millions out of poverty. Still, the price paid in civic freedom, surveillance, and internal repression tempers this interest with suspicion. For the eco-communitarian leftist or the social democrat, both models are troubling, either for their environmental disregard or their authoritarian economic structures. Trump, predictably, finds little to no support among these groups, who read him as a figure of regressive brutality, patriarchal excess, and ecological nihilism. Putin is similarly rejected, seen as a militaristic strongman whose repressive apparatus betrays the most basic ideals of social or cultural liberation.
Yet not all left-leaning types reject authoritarianism wholesale. Some, especially those shaped by anti-imperialist theory, can be fascinated by forms of governance that reject liberal universalism or neoliberal globalism. These observers may read Xi’s China or even Putin’s Russia as flawed but necessary counterweights to a West long steeped in extractive domination. The admiration is rarely unqualified, but it reveals a fracture in leftist thought, one that splits between proceduralist democrats and those who valorize resistance to Western order even at the cost of civil liberties.
On the right, the emotional and ideological affinities are quite different. Modi’s regime speaks clearly to the national conservative, who sees in him the return of a righteous moral order rooted in indigenous tradition. The fusion of religious symbolism with statecraft, the elevation of cultural pride, and the tactical use of legal ambiguity all appeal to those who fear the loss of national identity. Trump, in turn, becomes the chosen avatar for those who crave disruption, symbolic reassertion, and the breaking of elite consensus. His chaos is not a bug but a feature, proof that the old guard can be humiliated and replaced. Free market libertarians, though attracted to Trump’s deregulation and anti-tax stance, are less enthusiastic about authoritarian economics elsewhere. They often regard Putin and Xi with suspicion, reading them as hostile to entrepreneurship and tainted by statist control or oligarchy. Putin, however, holds considerable symbolic capital for the religious traditionalist and the security hawk. His curated image of moral masculinity, his Orthodox nationalism, and his appeal to geopolitical realism provide a fantasy of ordered sovereignty, one that stands firm against the relativism and decadence associated with liberal democracies. Xi’s China presents a more ambivalent image to the right. While his regime’s strict discipline, long-term planning, and technocratic governance resonate with neoreactionary intellectuals who favor hierarchy and post-democratic rule, the absence of religion, the Communist Party’s centrality, and cultural distance create limits to identification.
In terms of generational appeal the Silent Generation, born roughly between 1928 and 1945, often responds to authoritarian regimes through the lens of moral order and national restoration. Modi’s model appeals to this group with its emphasis on spiritual hierarchy, cultural rebirth, and postcolonial dignity, echoing older ideals of unity and discipline. Trump, by contrast, is frequently perceived as vulgar or destabilizing, although some admire his defiance of modern liberal elites. Putin’s security-driven, neo-traditionalist style aligns well with this generation’s memories of strong state structures and national pride. Xi’s model is met with mixed feelings, some respect its competence and discipline, but many remain wary of its secular, communist foundations.
Baby Boomers, born between 1946 and 1964, are often drawn to authoritarian forms that promise to reassert social coherence and national greatness in the face of what they see as cultural fragmentation. Modi’s synthesis of religion, statecraft, and modernity speaks to those nostalgic for post-independence optimism and national pride. Trump appeals to some as a backlash figure who resists the liberal drift of the post-1960s world. Putin’s restoration of Russian pride and his assertive masculinity resonate with older Boomers shaped by Cold War binaries. Xi is respected by some Boomers for projecting long-term stability and national unity, though others are uneasy with its rigid technocratic bureaucracy and surveillance apparatus.
Generation X, born between 1965 and 1980, grew up in the aftermath of social upheaval, economic uncertainty, and the global expansion of liberal democracy. This makes them particularly attuned to the contradictions of both authoritarian control and liberal dysfunction. Modi’s rise may be interpreted by many in this cohort as a stabilizing response to the perceived chaos of liberalization and corruption, though others remain suspicious of majoritarian overreach. Trump splits Gen X, his anti-institutional rebellion excites some, while others see him as corrosive to autonomy and order. Putin is viewed with strategic respect, not necessarily admiration, he embodies resilience and survival but lacks emotional appeal for those who value individual freedom. Xi’s hyper-bureaucratic control repels many in this generation, though a few admire the predictability and security it promises.
Millennials, born between 1981 and 1996, are a globalized and pluralistic generation shaped by precarity, digital life, and a deep disillusionment with neoliberal promises. Modi divides this generation, some are drawn to his critique of Western liberalism and his promise of rooted identity, but others see his politics as intolerant and caste-blind. Trump is widely seen as a symptom of democratic failure, a parody of leadership that embodies a world in crisis, though some admire his chaos as a kind of raw truth. Putin’s patriarchal authoritarianism holds little appeal for this cohort, though some alienated Millennials admire his rejection of Western hypocrisy. Xi’s system is intellectually fascinating to some Millennials for its efficiency and focus on long-term goals, including climate policy, but is mostly feared for its conformism, suppression of dissent, and surveillance.
Generation Z, born from 1997 onward, is ideologically fluid, hyper-aware of power structures, and immersed in the aesthetics of digital life. Modi’s Hindu-first vision is often rejected as regressive and violent, although nationalist youth in India do find a sense of meaning in his message. Trump is perceived by many as a meme-era disaster or cynical showman, a caricature of broken democracy, though others embrace him ironically or as a trickster figure. Putin is largely rejected as authoritarian and dated, a relic of a macho past, though some Gen Z youth, disillusioned with liberalism, adopt his symbolism in ironic or rebellious ways. Xi’s regime is regarded as one of the most serious threats to digital freedom and personal expression, but some are seduced by its promise of techno-moral order, global ascendance, and climate seriousness.
This complex grid of affinities demonstrates that authoritarianism is not merely imposed, it is interpreted, desired, and even longed for by different segments of the population. Each regime builds not only legal and military structures, but symbolic vocabularies that appeal to deep emotional and ideological currents. Modi’s blend of spiritual nationalism, caste silence, and democratic camouflage appeals to a uniquely Indian sense of fractured unity. Trump’s spectacular disruption of civility and rule-bound decorum excites those who see liberalism as a mask for elite corruption. Putin’s methodical control over security and culture speaks to a longing for restored dignity and order, while Xi’s austere, hierarchical modernism offers an image of a post-liberal future governed by collective purpose and moral clarity. Understanding these personality-regime alignments is crucial, not only for diagnosing the mechanics of authoritarian power, but for resisting it effectively. Strategies of opposition that fail to address the subjective investments of a regime’s supporters are bound to misfire. If people are drawn to authoritarian rule because it offers them recognition, purpose, or symbolic coherence, then resistance must offer alternative visions of dignity, solidarity, and belonging. A one-size-fits-all critique, grounded in abstract appeals to procedural democracy or liberal norms, cannot match the affective charge of civilizational pride, cultural security, or spiritual renewal that these regimes claim to offer. The question is not only how authoritarianism rules, but why it feels right to so many, and what might be offered in its place that speaks to their deeper needs without capitulating to their fears.
Authoritarianism, then, is not a fixed template imposed from above but a dynamic formation shaped by the fantasies and needs of its subjects. These differences matter. They reveal how authoritarianism functions not merely as repression, but as a cultural form and affective bond. Modi offers belonging, Trump offers release, Putin offers security, Xi offers structure. Each attracts different characters and habits, nurtured by different histories and crises. To understand authoritarianism today, we must ask not only who holds power, but what kind of person desires it, and why. This kind of analysis is crucial because it moves us beyond a surface-level understanding of authoritarian regimes as monolithic or purely top-down systems of control. Instead, it reveals how authoritarianism operates through a deep psychological, cultural, and social resonance with the populations it governs. Recognizing the appeal of different regimes to distinct personality types helps us grasp why authoritarianism persists even in formally democratic or economically developed societies, and why opposition strategies that rely only on institutional critique or moral condemnation often fail to gain traction.
Authoritarian regimes are not sustained solely by coercion or propaganda. They survive and adapt by aligning with latent desires, anxieties, and identity structures within the population. When we understand that Modi speaks to a desire for rootedness and cultural dignity, that Trump taps into resentment and a fantasy of personal sovereignty, that Putin reassures those seeking order and strength, and that Xi appeals to those who value hierarchy, discipline, and collective harmony, we see that these regimes are not accidental or externally imposed they are internally generated and emotionally reinforced.
This analysis also helps us approach these regimes more effectively, both as scholars and as policymakers. If we know what kinds of people are drawn to each form of authoritarianism, we can develop more nuanced approaches to resistance, reform, or diplomacy. For example, criticizing Modi’s regime for being illiberal may fall flat among those who see him as restoring moral order. Likewise, condemning Xi for repression won’t resonate with citizens who equate moral control with stability. In the US, appealing to democratic norms won’t reach those who see Trump’s lawlessness as a form of symbolic justice against a corrupt elite. From a democratic perspective, this means we must engage not only at the level of policy but at the level of emotional and cultural identification. Resistance to authoritarianism requires offering alternative narratives and forms of meaning that speak to people’s fears and longings just as powerfully. It also calls for deep listening understanding why people feel abandoned by liberal institutions or attracted to strongmen, and what unspoken needs are being answered by these regimes.
Finally, understanding the personality-regime alignment allows us to see authoritarianism not as an exceptional deviation from politics, but as a potential resting place for unresolved contradictions in modern subjectivity. The different authoritarian forms offer solutions to psychic tensions, between freedom and order, belonging and autonomy, justice and vengeance. When these tensions are not adequately addressed in democratic discourse or institutional life, authoritarianism offers the illusion of their resolution. The task, then, is not only to criticize the regimes, but to create political and cultural forms capable of speaking to the same longings, without the violence, exclusion, or domination.