In 1969, German artist Anselm Kiefer photographed himself standing in various European locations, his arm raised in the unmistakable Nazi salute. His series, Occupations/Heroic Symbols, was a deliberate provocation intended to expose lingering fascist legacies that had never been fully addressed. By situating himself in sites of cultural and historical significance, Kiefer reminded postwar Germany—and the rest of the world—that authoritarianism’s ghosts had not been banished, only repressed. A half-century later, a similar specter haunts the United States, though cloaked in different imagery. The “Make America Great Again” (MAGA) movement, with its fervent nationalism, mythologized nostalgia and aggressive iconography, has revived the symbolic language of authoritarianism in contemporary American politics.

Where Kiefer’s work serves as a warning about enduring historical amnesia, MAGA illustrates the costs of failing to remember. The true danger lies not only in those who enact these gestures but also in the public’s willingness to dismiss them as mere theatrics or trivial provocations.

Kiefer understood that symbols—once reignited—do not lose their potency simply because the original context has faded. The Nazi salute remains chilling, not because it reminds us of a past we fully comprehend, but because it signifies a chapter of history we prefer to avoid confronting. Likewise, Donald Trump’s red MAGA hat transcends its status as campaign merchandise. It has become a visual code for a movement that thrives on exclusion, resentment, and the distortion of history.

In Occupations, Kiefer compels viewers to acknowledge how the past intrudes upon the present—how gestures of hate and claims to supremacy do not vanish, but merely lie dormant, ready to be invoked. MAGA mobilizes similar tropes: its imagery of “taking back” and “standing strong” evokes the authoritarian playbook that Kiefer’s series was designed to expose.

One of the more disturbing insights of Occupations is that a simple motion—raising an arm—can still elicit profound discomfort. Kiefer forced audiences to confront the fact that symbols of power can be dangerously revived at any moment.

The January 6, 2021, assault on the United States Capitol provided a stark demonstration of this principle. The crowd that ransacked the Capitol did more than commit an act of political violence; it offered an unsettling performance that recalled moments of past authoritarian uprisings. Confederate flags, nooses, tactical gear, raised fists—together, these elements formed a collage of authoritarian iconography, repackaged for the 21st century. Much like Kiefer’s self-conscious salutes, these images carried real intent: to assert dominance and challenge the democratic narrative.

Reports that Elon Musk allegedly performed a Nazi salute during Donald Trump’s inauguration speech on January 20, 2025, serve as a reminder of how authoritarian symbolism can become normalized. Whether Musk’s gesture was deliberate or accidental, the underlying imagery was strikingly clear—provoking both outrage and weary indifference among those who have grown numb to the creeping acceptance of repeated historical patterns.

Kiefer’s salutes stand in a lineage of artistic subversion that includes Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator and John Heartfield’s photomontages—creative acts that exposed fascist symbols as grotesque. Yet Kiefer acknowledged how easily such parodies can bleed into complicity. “I don’t identify with Nero or Hitler,” he once said, “but I have to re-enact a bit of what they did to understand the madness.”

Musk, by contrast, is not an artist exploring the legacy of totalitarianism. He is a (soon-to-be) trillionaire technology magnate, possessed of massive cultural clout and political sway. When someone with such power flirts with far-right imagery—whether through conspiracy-laden social media posts or gestures that mirror a Nazi salute—it cannot be dismissed as mere performance.

Kiefer challenged entrenched power; Musk is entrenched power.