The Most Misunderstood Political Concepts Everyone Should Know to Survive the Next 4 Years

This is your cheatsheet for decoding power.

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Ever nodded along in a political conversation, hoping no one asked you to define “neoliberalism”? Or pretended you knew the difference between autarky and protectionism like it wasn’t just a word salad with tariffs on top?

You’re not alone. Most of us weren’t taught this stuff — at least not in a way that didn’t involve dry textbooks, Latin roots, and a mild identity crisis. But here’s the truth: Political terms get thrown around like confetti on Twitter fights, but half the time, even the people using them are winging it (guilty).

This isn’t about sounding smart — it’s about knowing what the hell is going on. Because if someone’s calling for a “technocratic theocracy,” you should know whether that means you’re getting government by nerds or by nerdy priests. If a leader is “authoritarian,” are they just strict — or full fascist with fireworks?

That’s where comparisons come in. Autocracy vs. democracy? Plutocracy vs. oligarchy? Populism vs. sadopopulism? Definitions are flat. Comparisons offer nuance and understanding.

It’s time to learn the difference between a bureaucrat and an apparatchik without losing your will to live. Because understanding this stuff doesn’t just impress your friends — it helps you see what kind of world you’re actually living in.

So think of this as a cheat sheet for decoding power — who has it, who pretends to, and who’s buying yachts because of it.

Plutocracy vs. Oligarchy

Plutocracy buys the country. Oligarchy splits it like a pizza among the rich friends who helped.

Oligarchy is rule by the few — usually the wealthy, the well-connected, or the ones who went to the same five prep schools. It doesn’t care if those few got rich off oil, algorithms, or avocado toast. What matters is that power is hoarded at the top, and decisions are made in closed rooms where the Signal password is “taxhaven2025.”

Plutocracy, though, is when money is the government. It’s not just that the rich influence politics — they are the politicians, the donors, the lobbyists, and probably the guy writing the tax code from a yacht. In a plutocracy, policy doesn’t just serve the rich — it’s written by them, and for them.

Trumpism often straddles both. Trump’s cabinet is a Wall Street-White House revolving door (oligarchy). However, his tax cuts, deregulation, and that baffling obsession with stock market “common sense” reveal something more plutocratic: a government designed to serve billionaires while selling coal jobs to the rest of us as consolation prizes.

Historical Examples:

• Oligarchy: Post-Soviet Russia, where a handful of oligarchs snapped up state assets and ran the country like a privatized casino.

• Plutocracy: Gilded Age America — Carnegie, Rockefeller, and J.P. Morgan didn’t just make money. They were the economy. A more recent case is the U.S. Supreme Court’s Citizens United ruling, legalizing unlimited money in politics. Call it a plutocracy starter pack.

Key difference?

• Oligarchy is a secret society — you don’t need to be rich, but you do need connections, power, and influence to make the rules. Oligarchy says, “The few shall rule.”

• Plutocracy is an exclusive country club — only the ultra-rich get in. Plutocracy says, “The rich are the few — and they already bought the throne.”

Authoritarianism vs. Fascism

Auhtoritarianism locks the doors. Fascism sets the house on fire and blames the neighbors.

Authoritarianism is a form of government where power is concentrated in the hands of a single ruler or a small elite. Dissent is squashed, the press gets muzzled, and political opponents mysteriously fall out of windows. But authoritarian regimes can come in many flavors: communist, theocratic, even monarchy-lite. It’s about control, not ideology. Think of it as the generic brand of repression with equal-opportunity tyranny.

Fascism, though, adds a full-blown ideological exorcism on top. It’s authoritarianism — but with a unifying myth, usually built on extreme nationalism, militarism, racial or ethnic superiority, and a cult-like obsession with a “strong man” leader. Most importantly, it needs an enemy – immigrants, minorities, the left, the media, academics, your DEI niece who went to Wellesley. It’s not just about power — it’s about purifying the nation.

Donald Trump is often labeled authoritarian — and there’s a case. He’s obsessed with loyalty, flirts with dismantling checks and balances, and thinks pardons are Pokémon cards. But the 2025 Trump regime? That’s drifting into fascist territory. Trump has proposed rooting out “deep state” enemies, has replaced civil servants with loyalists, and isn’t opposed to a little ethnic cleansing of Gaza. That’s not just authoritarianism. That’s fascism with frosting.

Historical Examples:

• Authoritarianism: Franco’s Spain. Suppression, yes, but without the manic Nazi energy.

• Fascism: Mussolini’s Italy and Hitler’s Germany, where every marching band doubles as a death squad.

Key difference?

• Authoritarianism says, “You can’t leave.”

• Fascism says, “You can’t leave unless it is on a deportation flight to an El Salvadoran prison.

Monarchy vs. Dictatorship

Monarchs are born into power. Dictators just hijack it — and usually have worse taste in curtains.

Monarchy is a government led by someone who came out of the right uterus. Kings, queens, princes — the whole pageant. It can be absolute (Hello, Saudi Arabia) or constitutional (Hi, King Charles, how’s the ribbon-cutting?). Monarchy’s strength is stability. Its weakness is… inbreeding. (See the Hapsburg jaw.)

Dictatorship, though, is monarchy without the bloodline — or with a very creative one. Dictators just grab the throne, rename some buildings (or bodies of water), and often don’t leave until they’re carried out feet first. They skip the ceremony and go straight to ruling by fear, flattery, and photo ops with “bigley” crowds.

Historical Examples:

• Monarchy: Louis XIV called himself the Sun King because he fancied himself the center of the universe. (Still more humble than Trump.) Or take any Saudi Crown Prince plus a lot of oil.

• Dictatorship: Hitler: Elected-ish. Dictator for life-ish. Ended in bunker-ish. Mussolini: All jawline, no brakes.

Key difference?

• Monarchs wave from balconies. Monarchy says, “God made me king.”

• Dictators wave tanks across borders. Dictators say, God? I fired him. You answer to me now.”

Dominionism vs. Theocracy

Theocracy says ‘Jesus should run the government.’ Dominionism hands him the keys and changes the Constitution.

Theocracy is a government run by religious leaders, where God isn’t just in the details — he’s literally the head of state. Iran? Theocracy. Think robes, clerics, and laws that say things like “stoning optional on Fridays.” It’s overt, official, and codified: God makes the rules, his priests enforce them, and secularism gets yeeted into the sun.

Dominionism, on the other hand, is sneakier. It’s a political theology within some U.S. Christian nationalist circles. It believes Christians — not all of them, just the “right” ones — should take dominion over government, law, media, and education. It doesn’t always say “make America a theocracy,” but the vibes are there. It’s like replacing the secular wallpaper with scripture until you don’t realize you’re living inside a Bible verse.

Project 2025, the MAGA manifesto, is basically Dominionism’s vision board. Replacing civil servants with fundamentalists? Defunding public education in favor of Bible-based charters? Criminalizing abortion nationwide? That’s not just church and state holding hands — it’s a Vegas elopement and a joint checking account.

Historical Examples:

• Theocracy: Tibet under the Dalai Lama (pre-1950s) — A genuine theocracy where religious leaders were the government.

• Dominionism: Reagan-era Moral Majority — Evangelicals didn’t want to run the government directly, just influence it hard enough to make it kneel.

Key difference?

• Theocracy pushes God in government, loud and proud. A theocracy says, “God told me to run this country.”

• Dominionism pushes God in government, but wearing a suit, carrying a clipboard, and pretending this was your idea. Dominionism says, “Public schools should teach Genesis like it’s peer-reviewed.”

Kleptocracy vs. Crony Capitalism

Kleptocracy steals your wallet. Crony capitalism gives it to his golf buddy and writes it off as a business expense.

Kleptocracy is government by thieves. Leaders loot the treasury, siphon foreign aid, sign no-bid contracts for imaginary infrastructure, and buy yachts longer than most runways. It’s not just corruption — it’s the point of the whole regime. Public office becomes a private ATM.

Crony capitalism doesn’t rob the state directly — it just rigs the system so your buddies profit. In crony capitalism, the government pretends it’s hands-off, but those invisible hands are handing out VIP passes to the rich and well-connected. Think of it as capitalism’s evil twin.

For example, Trump’s random tariff announcements — “Maybe 10%! Maybe 60%! Or maybe nothing at all unless China sends me a fruit basket!” — aren’t just erratic policy-making. They’re also a golden ticket for well-positioned insiders to play the chaos like a fiddle. Suppose someone in his inner circle gets a whiff that tariffs are coming or going. They can then short stocks in affected sectors (say, auto manufacturers or semiconductor firms), profit when the market jolts, and quietly buy low once the panic fades. Rinse. Repeat. Cha-ching. All the cronies are happy.

Another example of crony capitalism is Elon Musk’s cozy relationship with government subsidies. So was Jared Kushner’s $2 billion Saudi payday. But Trump’s private billing of Secret Service agents at his resorts? That’s straight-up kleptocracy. He turned the presidency into a Marriott rewards scheme.

With crony capitalism, the fox is guarding the henhouse. With kleptocracy, the fox owns the henhouse, the eggs, and the deed to the farm.

Historical Examples:

• Kleptocracy: Russia under Putin — a masterclass in extracting state wealth for oligarchs and silencing anyone who asks where the money went.

• Crony capitalism: The U.S. 2008 bailouts when Wall Street wrecked the economy and still got golden parachutes, courtesy of their friends in high places. Another example is Japan’s “Iron Triangle” era. It demonstrated tight collusion between bureaucrats, big business, and politicians.

Key difference?

• Kleptocracy is what’s yours is mine.

• Crony Capitalism is what’s public is for me and my frat bros.

Autocracy vs. Totalitarianism

Autocracy wants your obedience. Totalitarianism wants your browser history, your dreams, and your grandma’s Pinterest password.

Autocracy is when one person holds absolute power. No parliament, no checks, no messy voting rounds – just one ruler calling the shots like it’s a one-man band with a baton made of hubris. Autocrats don’t always care what you think as long as you don’t get in their way. You can have your little book club – as long as it’s not about voting rights.

Totalitarianism, on the other hand, kicks down the door and asks what that book club is reading. It’s autocracy on a power trip – one ruler (or party) that demands control not just over your actions but also over your mind. You’re expected to cheer at parades, quote the party line in your sleep, and name your dog after the Supreme Leader. Totalitarian regimes don’t just want silence – they want enthusiastic participation.

Think of autocracy as the prison warden. Totalitarianism is the cult leader who makes you build the prison, decorate your cell, and write fan mail to the warden.

Historical Examples:

• Autocracy: Tsar Nicholas II. All the power, no feedback form.

• Totalitarianism: North Korea under Kim Jong-un. Surveillance, indoctrination, mandatory haircuts.

Key Difference?

• Autocracy says, “Don’t challenge me.”

• Totalitarianism says, “Love me. Worship me. And delete your browser history.”

Irredentism vs. Revanchism

Both are the political version of your drunk uncle trying to get his ex back, but with slightly different motives.

Irredentism is when a nation wants to reclaim territory it believes rightfully belongs to it — because of shared ethnicity, language, religion, or just good old-fashioned nostalgia. It’s “That land has always been ours. Look at the old maps. The people there speak like us, think like us, and probably hate the same people we do.”

Revanchism (from the French revanche, meaning “revenge”) is the political thirst trap for territory lost in war or humiliation. It’s driven less by who’s living there now and more by “Hey! You embarrassed us. Now we’re coming back with tanks.”

Trump recently floated the idea that the U.S. should “take back” the Panama Canal, saying we “built it” and “never should’ve given it away.” This is classic revanchism. It’s not about ethnic ties or national unity — it’s about vengeance over a perceived loss of status or control. The U.S. willingly handed over the canal to Panama in 1999, but Trump frames it as a humiliating betrayal. This is a revenge policy, not cultural reintegration.

Trump also tried to “buy” Greenland from Denmark because he believes it should belong to the U.S., even suggesting military involvement if necessary. This leans more toward irredentism lite: While there’s no serious historical or ethnic claim tying Greenland to the U.S., Trump presents it as strategically and rightfully his — by virtue of proximity, Cold War-era military use, and good old imperial logic. It’s not traditional irredentism but mimics it: claiming territory not because of culture or kinship, but because “it should have been ours.” It’s colonial nostalgia in a MAGA hat.

Historical Examples:

• Irredentism: Putin’s justification for invading Ukraine is classic irredentism. “They’re basically Russians anyway,” he said, while sending in missiles and maps from the 1800s.

• Revanchism: Germany’s mood post–Treaty of Versailles? Peak revanchism. Hitler rode a tidal wave of “You disrespected us — we’ll make you pay” right into WWII.

Key Difference?

• Irredentism is about reuniting the family.

• Revanchism is about getting even.

Autarky vs. Protectionism

Autarky locks itself in the house and eats wallpaper paste. Protectionism installs a Ring camera and overcharges you for the delivery.

Protectionism is when a country slaps tariffs on imports or subsidizes local industries to “protect” its economy. It’s not anti-trade, just trade-curious — with trust issues. It still eats at the global buffet but complains loudly when someone else takes too many shrimp.

Autarky, on the other hand, is protectionism’s feral cousin who declares, “We don’t need anyone!” and proceeds to grow their own grain, forge their own steel, and probably knit their own Wi-Fi. It’s economic self-reliance turned full cult: no imports, no foreign partnerships, just good old-fashioned national isolationism with a side of economic fantasy.

Trump’s “Make Everything In America Again” rhetoric often tiptoes into autarkic fantasy. He’s pushed the idea that the U.S. should produce everything it consumes — cars, microchips, maybe even mangoes if Florida gets weirder. However, in a globalized economy, autarky is like trying to win a relay race without teammates. It’s lonely, delusional, and ends with someone eating fertilizer as a snack.

Historical Examples:

• Protectionism: The U.S. Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act (1930) raised U.S. tariffs on over 20,000 imports. It also helped turn a recession into a depression.

• Autarky: North Korea (now) is the ultimate autarkic state — imports almost nothing, survives on state-grown propaganda and rice (barely).

Key difference?

• Protectionism is wary of outsiders. We’ll trade with you, but we want the upper hand.

• Autarky pretends that outsiders don’t exist. We’ll trade with ourselves and like it, dammit.

Apparatchiks vs. Bureaucrats

Bureaucrats follows the manual. Apparatchiks rewrites it mid-arrest while smiling for state TV.

A bureaucrat is your average, pencil-pushing government functionary. Think DMV lifer or the EPA guy who knows what benzene is. Their power lies in process — annoying, redundant, snail-paced process. But they’re not usually ideologues. They just want the toner cartridge replaced and maybe a pension.

An apparatchik is a bureaucrat with a party loyalty blood oath. These are the career functionaries of authoritarian regimes who don’t just enforce the rules — they become the rules. Their job isn’t governance; it’s obedience. If the dictator says gravity is fake, the apparatchik starts floating.

Case in point: Trump loyalists vetted and groomed via Project 2025. These aren’t bureaucrats. They’re apparatchiks in training — selected for their allegiance, not their ability to do the job. The goal isn’t efficient government. It’s loyal sabotage from inside the system. You can’t drain the swamp if you’re too busy filling it with swamp creatures who call you “King Don.”

Historical Examples:

• Bureaucrats: New Deal Agencies (1930s): FDR stacked his alphabet soup agencies (like the WPA or TVA) with economists, engineers, and planners to rebuild the country — nerds with a mission.

• Apparatchiks: Soviet Union (1920s–1980s): Party loyalists who rose through the Communist Party ranks — not for brilliance, but for being ideologically obedient and unthreatening to the top.

Key difference?

• Bureaucrats follow procedure. They are annoying but stable.

• Apparatchiks follow power. They are dangerous but punctual.

Reification vs. Othering

Reification turns people into things. Othering turns them into threats.

Reification is the fancy philosophy word for treating people like objects — removing their humanity, complexity, and story, until they become “things.” It’s not just dehumanization. The poor aren’t people — they’re “the parasite class.” Immigrants aren’t families — they’re “a flood,” “an invasion,” or “vermin.” You take a breathing, feeling human being and flatten them into a label, a prop, a scapegoat. Voilà: they’re now luggage in your ideological baggage claim.

Othering is more relational. It’s the social surgery that slices the world into “us” and “them.” Othering doesn’t need to turn you into a thing — it just needs to paint you as alien, suspicious, not from around here. Muslims, immigrants, queer folks, disabled people, single moms on SNAP — it’s not that they’re objects; it’s that they don’t “belong.” They’re the statistical outliers in a story built for the majority.

When Elon Musk tweeted about the “parasite class,” that’s textbook reification. He stripped away any individuality or struggle and turned people into a contaminated label. When Trump calls immigrants “animals” or “vermin,” he’s reifying them — turning people into metaphors you can exterminate.

Othering shows up in the more subtle language of “real Americans” vs. everyone else. Or when entire districts or urban populations are framed as “unpatriotic,” “lazy,” or “godless.” Project 2025’s Christian nationalist agenda practically runs on premium-grade Othering, casting secular Americans as a threat to God and country.

Historical Examples:

• Reification: Stalin frequently referred to political enemies as “vermin,” “saboteurs,” or “enemies of the people,” which served a similar purpose — justifying purges and mass repression. Nazi propaganda under Hitler often depicted Jews as “rats” or “parasites,” portraying them as a corrupting influence that needed to be eradicated. During the Cultural Revolution, Mao’s government called counter-revolutionaries “poisonous weeds” and “pests”.

• Othering: In Jim Crow America, Black Americans weren’t necessarily described as “objects,” but as inherently inferior, dangerous, or morally degenerate — not part of the moral or national “we.” During WWII, Japanese-Americans were imprisoned in internment camps and framed as foreign agents — not dehumanized per se, but rendered perpetual outsiders, untrustworthy simply by ancestry. During the pandemic, Trump othered Muslims as existential threats to Western civilization and questioned their loyalty regardless of citizenship or conduct.

Key difference?

• Reification removes your humanity.

• Othering removes your membership card.

Kakistocracy vs. Meritocracy

Meritocracy hires the best for the job. A kakistocracy hires the guy who set the copier on fire but insists it was someone else’s fault.

A meritocracy is the system we pretend to have now: people rise to power based on talent, skill, and experience. It’s the political equivalent of hiring someone because they can do the job — not because they yelled the loudest or golfed with your rich uncle. In theory, it’s competence-based. In practice… well, let’s just say the résumé isn’t always the deciding factor if your name is Jamal.

A kakistocracy is the system we get when the least qualified, least ethical, and least self-aware people are put in charge. The term literally means “government by the worst,” like if a middle school food fight evolved into a political party.

Look no further than Trump’s cabinet for the de facto playbook on embracing a kakistocracy. Trump’s lackeys are a who’s who of anti-science zealots, nepotism hires, and people whose main qualification is loyalty, not literacy. It’s not about governing well; it’s about governing loud. Think of it as a Meritocracy run through a paper shredder and reassembled by people who think “bureaucrat” is a slur.

Historical Examples:

• Meritocracy: The Mandarin system in Imperial China: Civil service exams meant the bureaucracy (at least theoretically) ran on scholarly achievement rather than birthright. Another example is the U.S. military promotion system (post-WWII). Career advancement was often based on performance, not just connections.

• Kakistocracy: Nazi Germany (late WWII years): As the war progressed, competence gave way to loyalty and fanaticism. Hitler surrounded himself with yes-men and meth-fueled ideologues. Another example is Haiti under François “Papa Doc” Duvalier. He appointed voodoo priests and loyal thugs to government positions; expertise was irrelevant as long as you feared him enough.

Key difference?

• Meritocracy is rule by the capable. It wants to put the pilot in the cockpit.

• Kakistocracy is rule by the cousin who says, “How hard can it be?” before driving the economy into a ditch.

Anarchism vs. Libertarianism

Government sucks, but should we destroy it or just make it really, really small?

Anarchism dreams of a world without rulers, hierarchies, or oppressive systems. No state, no cops, no landlords. Just mutual aid, community gardens, and maybe a light Molotov cocktail hobby on the weekends. It’s not chaos for chaos’s sake – it’s the belief that people can organize themselves without being bossed around. Think DIY government, but with a better soundtrack and occasional arson.

Libertarianism, meanwhile, wants less government, not no government. It’s pro-property rights, pro-capitalism, and deeply anti-taxes. Libertarians believe the market should solve most things – healthcare, education, potholes, and probably moral crises. They worship at the altar of personal freedom, even if that freedom involves starting a crypto-backed private police force that runs on vibes and Web3.

Elon Musk is a libertarian when it suits him. He argues for deregulation while happily taking government subsidies for his businesses. One minute, he’s championing free speech on X, and the next, he’s suspending journalists. His fanboys talk like Ayn Rand is ghostwriting Rick and Morty. They want no rules – until someone insults them, then it’s “terms of service” time.

Historical Examples:

• Anarchism: The Spanish Civil War’s CNT collectives – actual neighborhoods run without bosses or bureaucrats.

• Libertarianism: Ron Paul’s 2008 campaign – gold coins, newsletters, and a vision of government small enough to drown in a bathtub.

Key Difference?

• Anarchism says, “Burn the system to the ground.”

• Libertarianism says, “Privatize the fire department first.”

Nationalism vs. Patriotism

Patriotism loves their country like a proud parent. Nationalism loves it like a stalker with a shrine in the basement.

Patriotism is a warm, loyal feeling – like wearing your country’s sweatshirt because it’s comfy, not because you want to punch anyone who questions the flag. It’s love mixed with humility: you can love your country and still admit it has spinach in its teeth. Patriots cheer at fireworks, cry at naturalization ceremonies, and think a protest can be the highest form of love.

Nationalism, though? That’s patriotism that’s done too many pushups in front of a mirror. It’s obsessed with borders, purity, and ranking first – even if it means sabotaging the race. Nationalists don’t want a better country; they want their version of the country, frozen in amber, often involving fewer immigrants, more militarized parades, and the mythical return of “greatness.”

Donald Trump sells nationalism in bulk. His “America First” slogan wasn’t about reform – it was a blunt instrument. When he tells Americans who disagree to “go back where they came from,” that’s not patriotism. That’s nationalism in a red hat.

Historical Examples:

• Patriotism: WWII-era Britain – stiff upper lips, rations, and unity without the racial purity checklist.

• Nationalism: Nazi Germany, obviously. But also modern Hungary, where nationalism means democracy gets a curfew.

Key Difference?

• Patriotism says, “I love this place, even when it messes up.”

• Nationalism says, “Love it – or get out. Preferably in handcuffs.”

Populism vs. Sadopopulism

Populism tells you the system is broken and promises to fix it for you. Sadopopulism tells you the system is broken and blames you for cutting yourself on the broken glass.

Populism is the political strategy of pretending to speak for “the people” — usually defined as the pure, hard-working, salt-of-the-earth folks — against some elite boogeyman. It’s a flexible ideology: right-wing, left-wing, or completely wingless. The populist hero claims they’ll drain the swamp, smash the system, and hand power back to you, the forgotten taxpayer/farmer/steelworker/overcaffeinated podcast listener…fill in the blanks. Populism speaks to your frustrations. It says, “Elites have screwed you over, and you deserve better.” It flatters the working class, courts the underdog, and promises to regain power from the rich and the smug. At its best, it’s democracy with a bullhorn.

Sadopopulism does the same warm-up act, but the finale is different. Historian Timothy Synder coined the term to describe a toxic flavor of populism in which leaders get political mileage from making their own base suffer. It cuts healthcare, shreds social services, and hands tax breaks to billionaires — all while convincing voters that the real enemy is their kid’s “woke” teacher or an undocumented farmworker. If it “owns the libs” or punishes some imagined freeloading “other,” it’s worth it. It’s governing through grievance: punishment disguised as populism.

Trumpism is a masterclass in sadopopulism. Tax cuts for billionaires, tariffs for the rest of us, canceled federal research grants, concentration camps for immigrants. Trump’s sadopopulism weaponizes grievances and then redirects them downward. The cruelty becomes proof that you are getting things done.

Historical Examples:

• Populism: Andrew Jackson antipified the hero of the “common man” but also of genocidal policies like the Indian Removal Act. Then there is Perón in Argentina. He boosted labor rights and rallied the working class (but also danced dangerously close to authoritarianism). Bernie Sanders represents left-wing populism by focusing on inequality, the 1%, and universal healthcare.

• Sadopopulism: Mussolini didn’t just appeal to the masses — he punished them for believing in him. He lured the working class with promises of dignity, power, and a restored Roman glory… and then fed them a diet of militarism, austerity, and fear. Brexit is another example. It promised sovereignty but delivered inflation and lost trade. And many still cheer because at least it’s not Brussels.

Key difference?

• Populism says, “I’m here to fight for you.”

• Sadopopulism says, “I’ll fight for you by making you bleed — because it builds character.”

Technocracy vs. Ideocracy

Technocracy runs on spreadsheets. Ideocracy runs on sacred scrolls, manifestos, and vibes.

Technocracy is rule by technical experts — engineers, scientists, policy wonks, data nerds. Every problem has a correct answer if you just graph it hard enough. It’s government by PowerPoint, where decisions are based on models, simulations, and efficiency metrics. There’s no left or right — just input, process, output, and a disturbingly accurate bar graph explaining why your town lost funding.

Think of Elon Musk as the Supreme Leader. Transportation? Hyperloop. Communication? Neuralink. Education? Definitely some AI brain chip that deletes your humanities degree. A technocracy doesn’t care if you feel seen — it cares if the infrastructure is “scalable.”

Ideocracy, on the other hand, is the opposite kind of fever dream: it’s rule by ideology, not intellect. Doesn’t matter if something works — does it align with The Cause™? In an ideocracy, your loyalty to the party line is more important than your skillset. Science is suspicious. Dissent is heresy. You don’t need fact; you need faith. (And maybe a bunker with Steve Bannon as your bunkmate.)

North Korea? It's an ideocracy with a twist of Dear Leader demagoguery. The Soviet Union under Stalin? Full-blown ideocracy — with mandatory Lenin posters and a five-year plan to starve.

Historical Examples:

• Technocracy: FDR’s New Deal brain trust enlisted econ professors turned policy tinkerers. Another example is Singapore under Lee Kuan Yew — run like a startup with military discipline.

• Ideocracy: Iran under Ayatollah Khomeini — Sharia law plus anti-Western zealotry. A more obvious example is Nazi Germany’s pseudoscience, purity myths, and goose-stepping loyalty tests.

Key difference?

• Technocracy trusts the math. It says, “What’s the optimal solution?”

• Ideocracy rewrites the math if it doesn’t align with the doctrine. It says, “What would our prophet/party/founder do?”

Neoliberalism vs. Neofeudalism

Neoliberalism sells you the ladder. Neofeudalism removes the ground beneath you.

Neoliberalism, despite sounding like a sassy new brand of oat milk, is not liberal and definitely not new. It’s that post-1980s economic philosophy that swears markets are magic, taxes are tyranny, and the invisible hand is totally not giving you the finger. It privatizes, deregulates, and tells governments to stop interfering (unless they’re bailing out banks).

Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher were its prom king and queen. Their love language? Slashing social services and convincing the public that billionaires create jobs the way clowns create trust.

With neoliberalism, the government sells off public housing and then rents it back at 300%. It’s a real “please sir, may I lease my own leg back” kind of vibe.

Neofeudalism, on the other hand, is when late-stage capitalism gets bored and starts roleplaying Game of Thrones. It’s not just inequality — it’s a return to serfdom, but now with Wi-Fi. You don’t own your home, your data, or your attention span. You rent everything from a handful of tech lords who call themselves “disruptors” while installing digital toll booths on life.

Neofeudalism is what happens when Amazon is your lord, Uber is your horse, and healthcare is a spell you can’t afford to cast. You don’t work for a boss — you serve a platform. Your landlord is a hedge fund. And the village square? That’s now an app with surge pricing.

Historical Evolution (Sort of, cause it’s neo):

• Neoliberalism: 1980s Chile under Pinochet (with a side of Chicago School economists). Other examples are post-Soviet Russia’s voucher-turned-oligarch bonanza or Clinton’s NAFTA-fueled free-market disco.

• Neofeudalism: The gig economy’s “be your own boss” pyramid schemes or Silicon Valley’s landlord cosplay (see: WeWork, Airbnb empires).

Key difference?

• Neoliberalism says, “You’re free to compete. Good luck.”

• Neofeudalism says, “You’re free to serve. Tip your liege lord.”

In both cases, you’re somehow poorer and still being blamed for not innovating hard enough.

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Veritas

You're not alone if you’ve felt overwhelmed by the last few months. I didn’t start collecting these political terms because I wanted to sound smart.

I started because I was scared.

No one should have to understand these systems by living through them. But once you do, you start to see patterns. And once you see patterns, it’s hard to unsee them.

So, to calm my fears, I made a list of tricky political concepts. Then another. And another. And suddenly, words like kleptocracy, sadopopulism, and anocracy weren’t just abstract – they were warning signs.

But you will notice there’s one word I omitted from this list — democracy. Sure, I could have given the textbook definition and compared it to anocracy or any one of these scary political concepts. But democracy stands on its own. Democracy is fragile, strong, and never guaranteed. It’s a high-maintenance relationship that requires vigilance, patience, and knowing when someone’s gaslighting you with policy.

Consequently, I kept circling back to one question in this probably too-long explainer piece: What will happen when I no longer have the freedom to teach? What will happen when my words are no longer mine?

Donald Trump obviously wants to rule Harvard and other universities so he can dictate what gets taught and who gets taught and hired. He and his Project 2025 buddies will smash the division of church and state in the classroom as surely as James Madison warned.

So I guess that makes Trump’s actions a combination of dictatorship, fascism, and authoritarianism with a potential for crony capitalism, domininism, and ideocracy.

But what Donald Trump’s actions are not is democracy.

This isn’t a glossary – it’s a survival kit. Use it to stay awake. Use it to stay human. And maybe, if enough of us do, we won’t have to learn the hard way what these words truly mean.

Carlyn Beccia is an award-winning author and illustrator of 13 books. Subscribe to Conversations with Carlyn for free content every Wednesday, or become a paid subscriber to get the juicy stuff on Sundays.