In the early 1950s, America found itself gripped by fear. World War II had ended, but a new conflict loomed: the Cold War. Across the globe, communism was spreading, and at home, Americans were increasingly anxious about communist infiltration.
In stepped Senator Joe McCarthy, a fiery Wisconsin politician who made it his mission to root out supposed communist sympathizers within the government, Hollywood, and everyday American life. With wild accusations and baseless claims, McCarthy capitalized on the country’s fear, igniting a wave of paranoia that would come to be known as the “Red Scare.”
McCarthy claimed to have a list of communists working within the State Department. QHe refused to produce the list but continued to spread his accusations. Careers were ruined, lives destroyed, and fear of communism grew even stronger. The evidence was flimsy at best, nonexistent at worst, but that hardly mattered; the senator understood that fear itself was enough to wield power. He created a climate in which suspicion was all that was needed to brand someone a traitor. Neighbor turned on neighbor, loyalty was questioned, and fear of “the other” became the nation’s dark obsession.
McCarthy’s strength came from his ability to manipulate a sense of “us vs. them.” He painted communists as dangerous outsiders, enemies within who would destroy the American way of life. This division served McCarthy well, keeping him in the spotlight and granting him an immense power over a fearful nation.
Decades later, the echoes of McCarthy’s rhetoric surfaced once more. As Donald Trump began his presidential campaign, he tapped into a similar fear of “the other,” but this time, the targets were immigrants, Muslims, and anyone who didn’t fit a narrowly defined version of “American.” From describing Mexican immigrants as criminals to proposing a ban on Muslim immigrants, Trump revived an old tactic, painting these groups as a threat to the country’s security and identity.
Just as McCarthy had used the threat of communism, Trump harnessed fears of economic displacement and national insecurity to rally supporters. He painted himself as a savior who would protect “real” Americans from the supposed dangers posed by immigrants and people of different ethnic backgrounds. Trump’s rise showed that McCarthy’s playbook of stoking fear and resentment was still effective. Like McCarthy, Trump understood that fear could galvanize a nation, distracting from deeper issues of inequality and economic uncertainty.
Both men thrived on division, sowing mistrust and offering scapegoats for complex problems. McCarthy’s legacy left a scar on American society, and Trump’s rhetoric left another, often pitting Americans against one another based on race, religion, or country of origin.
The legacy of McCarthyism and Trump’s rise share a common thread: fear of outsiders used as a tool to manipulate and divide. In the 1950s, it was communists; in recent years, it has been immigrants and minorities. Today, the scars left by these tactics linger, and the lessons of McCarthy’s “reign of terror” remain hauntingly relevant. Just as Americans had once seen themselves as divided by ideology, they now find themselves divided by race, class, and nationality, a reminder that fear, when wielded carelessly, can shape the course of history and deepen the divides within a nation.