Echoes of Mein Kampf: Scapegoats Then, Scapegoats Now
The Dangerous Parallels Between 1920s Germany and Today’s Populist Politics
There's nothing novel about the politics of blame. A century ago, a failed Austrian painter sat in a prison cell and wrote a book that would become the ideological blueprint for one of history's darkest regimes. Page after page, he named enemies — Jews, Marxists, immigrants, the press — casting them as parasites gnawing away at Germany's greatness. He didn't offer solutions. He offered scapegoats.
That book, Mein Kampf, became a manual for hatred. But more than that, it became a warning — a chilling reminder of how easily fear can be weaponized, how quickly societies fracture when anger is redirected toward the vulnerable.
Now, in 2025, we must confront a hard truth: the cast of scapegoats has changed, but the script has not. And if we fail to recognize the echoes, we risk repeating the silence that once let history spiral into catastrophe.
“Scapegoating doesn’t solve crises — it prolongs them. And every time we blame the powerless, we let the powerful off the hook.”
The Old Playbook, New Targets
In Hitler's time, Jews were painted as conspirators undermining the "true" people. Today, in Canada and the United States, migrants are blamed for housing shortages, trans people are vilified as threats to children, Muslims are cast as infiltrators, and progressives are caricatured as enemies within.
But let's be honest: Did a refugee family buy up half the condos in downtown Toronto? Did a trans teenager crash the housing market? Did a hijab cause grocery prices to skyrocket?
We're told that if only these groups were kept in line — if borders were sealed, pronouns erased, hijabs policed, universities purged of "wokeness" — then everything would return to normal. Housing would be affordable. Jobs would be plentiful. Dignity would be restored.
But history tells a different story. Scapegoating doesn't solve crises — it prolongs them. It distracts from the real culprits: corporate landlords hoarding housing stock, governments gutting public services, billionaires manipulating markets, and politicians slashing social safety nets.
So ask yourself: Why are leaders so eager to blame the powerless — and so reluctant to challenge the powerful?
Canadian Grievance, American Fury
In Alberta, politicians stir up resentment by claiming Ottawa is robbing the West blind. The rage isn't aimed at oil companies making record profits or premiers slashing healthcare — it's aimed at Quebec, at Ottawa, at imagined enemies who "humiliate" the West.
Who benefits when your anger is aimed east instead of up?
In the United States, Donald Trump peddles a similar narrative: the "stolen election," the "open border invasion," the idea that real Americans are being replaced.
But ask yourself: If America is being "invaded," why are billionaires richer than ever? If Alberta is being "humiliated," why do energy CEOs keep cashing record bonuses?
Both countries face real crises — unaffordable housing, overstretched healthcare, stagnant wages, and a climate emergency. But instead of solutions, too many leaders are dusting off the old scapegoat manual and hoping we've forgotten where that path leads.
The Comfort of Blame
Scapegoating works because it's easy. It gives shape to pain. It offers villains for problems too vast to solve overnight. And it flatters us — suggesting our failures aren't systemic, but sabotaged by outsiders.
It's easier to believe a refugee family is why you can't afford rent than to confront the ruthless power of private equity firms snapping up entire apartment blocks.
It's easier to rage about pronouns than to ask why billionaires doubled their wealth during a pandemic while nurses burned out and left hospitals in droves.
So here's the test: When a politician hands you a scapegoat, are they solving your problem — or shielding themselves from accountability?
A Warning, Not a Comparison
Let's be clear: Canada and the United States are not Weimar Germany. But that's precisely why the warning matters now — not later.
When Mein Kampf was first published, many dismissed it as fringe ranting. They assumed democracy was too strong to be undone by conspiracy theories and scapegoats.
How did that assumption work out?
History doesn't repeat itself in perfect form. But it rhymes. And the rhyme is unmistakable: It's their fault. They are the enemy. Without them, we would be great again.
Sound familiar?
Choosing a Different Future
We cannot afford to shrug and say, "It's just rhetoric." Rhetoric shapes reality. Words inspire violence. Narratives justify policy. And policy, once enacted, is hard to undo.
The antidote is not silence. It's not a polite disagreement. It's relentless truth-telling. It's reminding Canadians and Americans alike that the real enemies of progress are not migrants, trans kids, or Muslims — but inequality, greed, and leaders who feed on division instead of offering solutions.
If history handed us the manual for how societies slide into darkness, what excuse do we have for pretending we can't hear its echoes?