The Slow Creep: The Psychology Behind Our Slide Toward Authoritarianism
Photo by Filip Andrejevic on Unsplash
Good people are letting democracy slip away. Not because they want to, but because they’re tired, afraid, or unsure how to speak up.
This isn’t an article about extremists. It’s about people like us, scrolling through LinkedIn on our phones. People who believe in democratic values. Who care about justice. Who feel the unease but don’t always know what to do with it.
This article is about the psychology behind their silence. How our minds adapt to the unacceptable, how we rationalize the drift, and how our moral compass can slowly, quietly, begin to wobble.
Because authoritarianism doesn’t always arrive with jackboots. Sometimes it comes in softly, through normalization. Through decent people choosing caution over clarity. Through what we don’t say.
And the most dangerous part? We barely notice it happening.
A few months ago, I called the Trump administration “fascist” in an article on LinkedIn. Not “leaning that way.” Just fascist. It struck a nerve; it got more attention than anything I’ve written before. And thanks to Vu Le for amplifying it to his audience, the conversation grew even louder. But the real question isn’t whether the label fits. The real question is what we do once we name it.
Let’s talk about that.
The Drift to Accepting the Unacceptable
One of the most chilling ideas I’ve ever studied is called the shifting baseline syndrome. It explains how we adjust to decline without even noticing it. In environmental science, it describes how each generation accepts fewer fish in the sea or more smog in the air as “normal.”
But it works just as well for democracy. When change is gradual, we stop noticing. What once shocked us becomes background noise.
We adapt.
That’s how people end up accepting things they never would’ve tolerated 10 years ago:
Journalists smeared or silenced
Student protesters criminalized
Civil servants demonized
Elections delegitimized
And now we can add:
Armed soldiers deployed in U.S. cities to “fight crime”
Masked government agents arresting civilians and hauling them away in unmarked vans without due process
These aren’t hypotheticals. They’re happening.
But we’re not wired for constant outrage. We’re wired to keep going. So, when the world keeps tilting, we tilt with it. Until we feel upright in a world that’s upside down.
Why Good People Stay Silent
Social psychology has a few explanations for this.
First, pluralistic ignorance: that’s where everyone privately believes something is wrong but stays quiet because they assume everyone else is fine with it.
Then there’s social identity theory: our need to belong is often stronger than our need to be right. Speaking up carries risk — to jobs, status, friendships. So, people make quiet compromises:
“I don’t talk politics.”
“Both sides are corrupt.”
“There’s nothing I can do.”
Each time we say that we chip away at our moral identity. The part of us that wants to be a good person in public, not just in private.
And neutrality? It always favors the status quo.
What Moral Identity Really Means
My doctoral dissertation was on moral identity; how important morality is to your sense of self. What I found is that people who see being good as central to who they are aren’t necessarily better people. But they are more likely to act. To resist pressure. To speak.
That moral identity isn’t fixed. It’s built (or eroded) through daily choices. Especially the small ones. And one of the most powerful? Choosing to name what we see.
Naming Is a Moral Act
When I called the Trump administration fascist, I wasn’t trying to provoke anyone. I was trying to speak plainly. Because naming things matters.
Research on moral identity activation shows that when people are reminded of who they are, or who they want to be, they’re more likely to act with courage. But when we stay silent too long, that identity goes dormant. Rationalization steps in.
We tell ourselves we’re being careful. Strategic. Realistic.
That’s how normalization wins. Not through force. Through fatigue. Through fear. Through our deep desire not to make things awkward.
The Cost of Staying “Safe”
A charity CEO friend recently told me about a meeting they had with other top nonprofit CEOs. The topic? Attacks on civil society, including nonprofit and advocacy organizations. The consensus? Stay the course. Protect the organization. Don’t draw fire.
I understand. When the stakes are high, staying quiet feels responsible. But that’s exactly how the slow creep works. Not through chaos, but through caution. Through smart people choosing not to cause a stir.
Until one day, the unthinkable becomes routine.
Stay Awake
So, if you’ve ever wondered what you’d do during a moment of democratic collapse, stop wondering. You’re doing it now.
Are you naming what you see?
Are you drawing moral lines?
Are you choosing discomfort over complicity?
You don’t need to be dramatic. Just honest. Name the thing you’ve been avoiding. In your workplace, your neighborhood, your boardroom, on your social media feed.
Speak even when your voice shakes. Refuse to pretend this is normal. Because the moment you name what others are afraid to say, you don’t just resist the drift. You give them permission to speak, too.
That, my friends, is how the slow creep stops.
We stop it.