Prominent American journalist and broadcaster Dorothy Thompson was the first US reporter to be expelled from Germany in 1934, the order delivered by the Gestapo to her lodgings at the Hotel Adlon in Berlin with Thompson given twenty-four hours to leave the country, for her articles and observations critical of the party and its leader, as a Little Man and the embodiment of mediocrity. 
Continuing her work, Thompson rallied against the regime over the next two decades, trying to warn the world about its mindset and strongly advocated for first Jewish refugees, but recognising the right-wing infiltration of the Zionist movement, then displaced Palestinians, one of her more memorable and influential essays was published in 1941 by Harper’s Magazine, framed as a guessing-game with the objective of trying to spot the fascist at a social gathering, whom despite maintaining they have no truck with such dark ideologies would nonetheless support a mainstream, normalised movement under a different name—or under the same, unabashedly.
…The saturnine man over there talking with a lovely French emigree is already a Nazi. Mr. C is a brilliant and embittered intellectual. He was a poor white-trash Southern boy, a scholarship student at two universities where he took all the scholastic honours but was never invited to join a fraternity. His brilliant gifts won for him successively government positions, partnership in a prominent law firm, and eventually a highly paid job as a Wall Street adviser. He has always moved among important people and always been socially on the periphery. His colleagues have admired his brains and exploited them, but they have seldom invited him—or his wife—to dinner.
He is a snob, loathing his own snobbery. He despises the men about him—he despises, for instance, Mr. B—because he knows that what he has had to achieve by relentless work men like B have won by knowing the right people. But his contempt is inextricably mingled with envy. Even more than he hates the class into which he has insecurely risen, does he hate the people from whom he came. He hates his mother and his father for being his parents. He loathes everything that reminds him of his origins and his humiliations. He is bitterly anti-Semitic because the social insecurity of the Jews reminds him of his own psychological insecurity.
Pity he has utterly erased from his nature, and joy he has never known. He has an ambition, bitter and burning. It is to rise to such an eminence that no one can ever again humiliate him. Not to rule but to be the secret ruler, pulling the strings of puppets created by his brains. Already some of them are talking his language—though they have never met him.
There he sits: he talks awkwardly rather than glibly; he is courteous. He commands a distant and cold respect. But he is a very dangerous man. Were he primitive and brutal he would be a criminal—a murderer. 
But he is subtle and cruel. He would rise high in a Nazi regime. It would need men just like him—intellectual and ruthless. But Mr. C is not a born Nazi. He is the product of a democracy hypocritically preaching social equality and practicing a carelessly brutal snobbery. He is a sensitive, gifted man who has been humiliated into nihilism. He would laugh to see heads roll…
…Mrs. E would go Nazi as sure as you are born. That statement surprises you? Mrs. E seems so sweet, so clinging, so cowed. She is. She is a masochist. She is married to a man who never ceases to humiliate her, to lord it over her, to treat her with less consideration than he does his dogs. He is a prominent scientist, and Mrs. E, who married him very young, has persuaded herself that he is a genius, and that there is something of superior womanliness in her utter lack of pride, in her doglike devotion. She speaks disapprovingly of other “masculine” or insufficiently devoted wives. Her husband, however, is bored to death with her. He neglects her completely and she is looking for someone else before whom to pour her ecstatic self-abasement. She will titillate with pleased excitement to the first popular hero who proclaims the basic subordination of women…
Married to Nobel award winning author Sinclair Lewis (It Can’t Happen Here), the 1942 film Woman of the Year, starring Katherine Hepburn (her first with Spencer Tracy and the later musical adaptation featuring Lauren Bacall), was loosely based on Thompson’s life and career.
letters from an american: Heather Cox’ somewhat becalming analysis of the DOGE Putsch
